Chuck Versus What Happens In Vegas (Chuck 6-01 and 02)
by anthropocene
Summary: A post-series Chuck story—and imagined Season 6 opener. As a reunited Chuck and Sarah begin to rebuild their life together, their C.I. firm is contracted by the CIA for a mysterious high-tech project near Las Vegas. With Morgan, Alex, and unexpected guests—it's a second honeymoon in Sin City, and a Dam crazy cyber-caper with major implications for Chuck and Sarah's future.
1. Prologue

**...If there was to be a Season 6 of _Chuck_, how might the season open?**

* * *

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**A/N:** This story—if it were an actual program—would probably be a two-hour season premiere. I hope you enjoy it! Please send reviews at any time! Thanks!

**Disclaimer:** Like everyone else writing in this community, I don't own _Chuck,_ but I love the show and its characters.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

**Late night, Echo Park, California**

Invisible against the urban sky, smaller and quieter than a pigeon, a miniature drone helicopter rises from the Hollywood Hills and swoops down toward the nearby Echo Park neighborhood. It hovers above a familiar red-tile roofed apartment complex and begins to scan the entire structure with a set of different sensing devices.

A raven-haired woman with an iPad sits at a desk in an otherwise empty office a short distance away. She controls the drone helicopter and the sensing devices with practiced movements of her fingertips across the screen. She sweeps for live alarms and finds none. She peers through the roof of the complex and downward into the apartments, inch by inch, like the individual slices of a CAT scan. She finds two people sitting together in one of the apartments, and none in any of the others.

"It's clear," the woman says softly to her iPad.

A man and a woman wearing what appear to be Los Angeles Police uniforms walk toward the apartment complex from a vehicle parked on the next block. They enter the central courtyard and find the building to be silent, except for the gentle bubbling of the decorative fountain in its midst. While the woman keeps watch, the man steps quietly to the front door of the apartment in the back.

In about ten seconds, the bogus policeman efficiently picks both the lock and the deadbolt, and opens the door just a crack. From his shirt pocket, he takes out a black plastic vial slightly larger than a double-A battery. He pulls a cap off one end and points the open end through the partially opened door. Three tiny objects shoot out of the vial and tumble into the apartment. Just before hitting the floor, each object pops out a set of wings and flutters upward to affix itself to the ceiling. The devices look exactly like moths.

The bogus policeman quietly closes the door, and he and his partner disappear back into the peaceful neighborhood.

Meanwhile, in the office, the raven-haired woman opens a new window on her iPad and takes control of the three drone moths. She pilots them around the apartment, looking into darkened hallways and rooms with tiny infrared eyes, until she locates the bedroom. She parks one in the living room, one in a hallway, and the third atop the frame of a _Tron_ movie poster on a wall in the bedroom. With their wings retracted, they are all but out of sight, but their infrared gaze gives their operator clear views of the front door, the hallway, and the bed.

* * *

**Moments later, in the adjoining apartment**

Morgan and his girlfriend Alex heard nothing of the swift intrusion. They're together on the couch in their living room. Morgan watches a kung-fu movie with the volume turned almost down to nothing, while Alex sleeps, murmuring softly from time to time, with her head cradled in his lap. Morgan is exhausted and wishes they were both in bed, but he can't sleep. Not until he's learned what's happening with Chuck. Chuck's been gone for hours now and hasn't called or texted. Morgan sits, glancing from the screen to his phone to the window and back to the screen, with drowsiness battling anxiety and hope for his friends:

_Did he find her? Did he kiss her? Does she remember?_

* * *

**About the same time, on the coast at Malibu**

_(Music: "Looking for a Sign," by Beck)_

Chuck and Sarah cuddle in the dark on an empty strand of beach, sharing slow, deep kisses. His arms encircle her. Her fingers lazily caress the back of his neck. Their eyes are closed and faintly moist from tears. Neither of them has spoken for a long while.

But the tide is rising and the waves are edging closer, and finally one of them reaches far enough to sweep over her sandals and his black Chuck Taylor sneakers. Startled by the chilly water, Sarah and Chuck stumble backwards up the slope of the beach—then tumble when Chuck loses his balance. He falls, and Sarah lands across his lap, and they're crosswise on their backs in the sand, laughing and looking up at the sky.

"Whoa," says Chuck after their laughter subsides. "I didn't notice it got dark out."

"Me neither." Sarah rolls over on top of him and nestles her head into his chest. "And we're still here. Guess _I_ didn't realize how much I just needed to feel _good_ again—feel something real again." Her unruly blonde hair tickles Chuck's nose and smells like the salt spray. "Being here like this, with you, just feels so comfortable...and familiar. We've had some practice at this, haven't we?"

"Oh yeah. Sometimes even in the middle of deadly situations."

Sarah grins and turns her face toward Chuck's. "Well that makes sense, because by now you're probably dying to know if Morgan was right."

"I am—but like you said, we're still here." He gently caresses her back. "I'm pretty good with that."

"Me too." Sarah wriggles her body against his. "Okay," she continues, "so how do I put this? You know, umm, that spies like us sometimes have to do a mission even when we don't have complete intel...right?"

"Right, yeah..." Chuck replies, hesitantly.

"That's kind of what this is like. Chuck, I'm here now because I do trust you, and I believe in our story. There hasn't been any big rush of memories returning—sorry, Morgan—but our kiss was still magical in a different way. Does all this sound crazy to you?"

"No, no, no...not at all. Sarah, after what you've been through—"

She shakes her head. "It's what _we've_ been through, Chuck. I understand that now. What I'm trying to say is...I'm _feeling_ it now—I mean feeling it _again_. I don't just _know_ it, I _feel_ that I loved you and I'm sure I still do. I want this, Chuck. I want to be with you."

They're both trembling now, and their eyes begin to tear up again, so Chuck wraps his arms around Sarah and they kiss some more, with greater fervor, entwined on the sand. When they stop, Sarah looks wistful.

"Of course I want the rest of it back too," she says, "I want to remember my life..._our_ life."

Chuck squeezes her reassuringly. "You will, baby. Your memories are coming back."

She nods. "With help. I really think it helps when I'm with you, or when I'm in places that are important. Important to _us_ that is—like this beach."

Her eyes fix on his. "So...umm, Chuck...?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you take me home now?"

"Right away," Chuck whispers, half-choked with emotion.

"I _am_ going to find myself again," Sarah continues. "I don't know how long that will take, but I do know I need to be with you...and I want to be _home_."

Her voice falters. "Chuck...I love you, and I know you love me...but it could be a long way back to being the wife you knew. You'll be patient with me, won't you?"

"Sarah, I promise you that...and more. Actually, I'm thinking of this as the two of us discovering each other all over again, and that sounds like fun." After a moment, he adds, "At whatever pace works for you, of course."

"I like that," Sarah says, more confidently. "Fun and adventure."

"Well, the two of us were always good at adventure," replies Chuck with a grin.

Sarah closes her eyes as Chuck rocks her gently in his arms. Then it occurs to her—"Do we have time to—like you say—rediscover each other? Can we drop...well, whatever we were doing before, just like that? Chuck, what _were_ we doing before Quinn?"

Chuck laughs. "We were on our second or maybe third 'one last mission.' But now, we're really done, we're out, we're free to start something all new. We have all the time in the world and just enough money, I'd say. And, lots more of _that_, if and when our lawyers figure out how to unfreeze our—"

"We have _lawyers_?"

"Oh yes, we do. _Spy_ lawyers. Perfect for the job. Same firm that Verbanski uses to keep her firm out of trouble with foreign governments and such. In fact, she recommended them to us, and _you_ were the one who actually wrote up the contract for their services."

"Chuck," Sarah asks sheepishly, "who's Verbanski?"

"A story unto herself. One of the friends I'll enjoy helping you recall."

"When we're _home_. Oh, Chuck, that sounds so good to me. But...what about the...that _house_? You know, where I almost..." Sarah shudders in his arms. "You told me it was my dream home, but now, I don't think I could set foot in there again."

"One mission at a time," Chuck softly replies. "Like you used to say to me. Just know that you'll always have a place to go, where you'll be safe and where you can heal."

"Mmm." She slips her arms around his neck and kisses him. "I'm ready to go, Chuck."

They get to their feet and start walking, hand in hand, toward the dimly lit beachfront parking lot. Her black Lotus Evora and his humble Nerd Herder are the only two vehicles still there, sitting just two spaces apart.

"C'mere a second." Sarah opens the trunk of the Lotus. There's only one small suitcase inside.

"I've already left the hotel," she explains while opening the suitcase. "No matter what, I decided I wasn't going back there. I didn't take much with me—just my weapons and my mission logs. And these."

Sarah reaches into the case and takes out...her engagement and wedding rings.

Chuck gasps. She holds the rings out to him as her eyes tear up once more.

"Everything else in that hotel room was planted by Quinn. All part of his big lie. These are the only things that were never, ever a lie. Chuck...I love you, and I trust you, and I want to wear these again. Would you...?"

He sighs deeply, gets down on one knee in front of Sarah, and gently slips both rings onto her finger. She looks at them for a moment, then bends forward to embrace Chuck. "So sweet," she murmurs in his ear. "I love you."

"I love you too, baby," Chuck replies, and kisses her joyfully before getting back to his feet. "If you want, I'll leave the Herder here and ride with you."

"No, you don't have to." says Sarah. "I'll just follow you home."

He grins and nods toward the Lotus. "You sure you can keep up with me in that old beater?"

She elbows him in the ribs. "Ha! Just try and shake me."

Sarah and Chuck kiss once more, then with hearts racing, they jump into their cars and speed off, cat-and-mouse fashion, back into the welcoming city...

_(Music: "Together Forever In Love," by Go Sailor) _

...and when they are still about ten minutes away from their apartment, they are spotted by the mysterious raven-haired woman with the drone helicopter.

_(Opening credits and "Short Skirt, Long Jacket" theme by Cake)_


	2. Chapter 1

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_. I'm just having a little trouble letting go of the story.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

**Some time after midnight, Chuck and Sarah's apartment**

In the shower, Chuck rinses the sand from his feet and the salt from his hair. He steps out, throws on a bathrobe, and walks quickly to the bedroom closet without looking around.

"So what _do_ you wear on your first night back together?" he mutters to himself. He thinks about it for a moment and decides to put on a plain gray T-shirt and a baggy, unsexy pair of boxer shorts.

Sarah is stretched full-length across their bed, in a demure powder-blue nightgown with her feet in a pair of white gym socks and her damp hair up in a towel around her head. She's gazing at a shelf full of framed pictures: most of them depicting her looking radiantly happy with Chuck, in different places all over the world.

"Beautiful," Sarah hears Chuck say, barely above a whisper. She turns to him with an affectionate smile and heavy eyes.

"There's so much I want to ask you, but right now I'm just tooo sleepy. Need to crash." Sarah pulls the towel off her head, drops it on the floor, and shakes her long hair free. Yawning and blinking, she slips under the covers on the far side of the bed and looks up at Chuck from her pillow.

Unsure of what to do, he takes a step backward to the doorway and leans awkwardly against the door frame. "Rest well, babe. I'll take the couch."

Sarah shakes her head no. "Chuck, it's okay. I slept with you right here when I thought you were my enemy and not my husband. Why wouldn't I share our bed with you now? C'mon. It's been a long day and it's really late and we both need sleep." She pats the empty half of the bed.

"You've got a point." Chuck nods and smiles and climbs in beside her. He turns off the bedside lamp and leans over to kiss her.

"Good night, Sarah."

"Turn over," she says, pushing gently on his shoulder.

Chuck turns on his side, as directed, and Sarah immediately snuggles against him from behind, slipping one of her arms under his neck and wrapping the other around his chest. Her stocking feet tangle up with his bare feet. She kisses the back of his neck.

"G'night, Chuck."

And Sarah's asleep in mere moments. Soothed by the soft rhythm of her breathing, Chuck gently folds his arms around hers, and drifts off….

* * *

_(Some time later, in her lair a few miles away, the raven-haired woman flexes her fingers and turns back to her iPad.)_

...Still spooning with Chuck and deep in a healing dream, Sarah abruptly twitches and shakes her head. Startled awake, Chuck mumbles, "Hmm?"

"Sorry," Sarah drowsily whispers. "There's a bug in here...moth, I think. Brushed my ear. Tickles."

The moth reappears, circling above them.

"_Morrrr_-gan," grumbles Chuck. "Must've come in through the window looking for me before we got back. Probably let in a whole swarm, knowing him. Fear not, m'love, I'll shoo this interloper and any others away."

He switches the lamp on. The moth glides up to the ceiling. Chuck and Sarah turn onto their backs and look up at it.

"Funny that it didn't go to the light," Chuck notices. He rubs his eyes and focuses on the moth…_then flashes_ on it.

"Oh boy—oh boy!" He throws off the covers and stands up on the bed for a closer look, nearly trampling Sarah in the process.

"Chuck, what—?"

"Sarah—this isn't a moth. It's a nano-drone—a Noctuidor nano-drone."

_(The raven-haired woman's eyes widen in surprise.)_

Sarah, instantly fully awake, leaps for the doorway. "Get away from it! Chuck, _now!"_

"Wait." He turns to her and puts his finger to his lips—as if a sudden noise could startle a cyber-insect. It's still there on the ceiling, and Chuck gingerly raises his opened right hand toward it. "Maybe I can trap it," he whispers.

_(The raven-haired woman chuckles at that. Her fingers dance over the iPad.)_

_(Music: "Insects," by Oingo Boingo)_

Chuck lunges and misses as the drone moth dives from the ceiling and starts looping around him. He bounces and flails wildly atop the bed, but doesn't come close to it.

Alarmed and agitated, Sarah yells, "This is crazy—dangerous!_"_ She jumps back up on the bed and starts twisting and weaving around Chuck, trying to grasp hold of his arm without getting swatted herself. "What are you _doing?_ Stop! Get _away_ from that thing!"

"Just a second! Wait! I can do this." Chuck freezes, enabling Sarah to grab a fistful of his T-shirt. She tugs but Chuck holds his ground. He watches the trajectory of the drone moth for two seconds, then takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and flashes again. Then, without opening his eyes, he reaches out with both hands_—where the drone is about to be—_and—

"I _got_ it! Sarah, I got it!" He can feel it bouncing around inside his cupped hands: much tougher and heavier than an actual moth would be.

_(The raven-haired woman laughs out loud. "Ay! That's a first.")_

"Chuck—there's another one!" cries Sarah. _"Ow!" _She lets go of his shirt.

He turns to see a second drone moth on Sarah's neck. She swipes at it, throws a confused look at Chuck, and then her expression goes wholly blank. She collapses on the bed.

"Sarah…! _Ow!"_ Chuck feels a sharp sting on his palm and drops the captured nano-drone. "Sorry—didn't expect—moths would...bite..." he mumbles as a cold numbness creeps up his forearm, and everything around him goes out of focus.

* * *

**Second day, morning**

The ringing doorbell wakes Chuck. After that, the first thing he's aware of is the warmth of Sarah lying close beside him, then the sunlight pouring into the bedroom through partly-opened curtains. He turns to his wife and rises up on one elbow, just in time to watch her dusky blue eyes open.

"This is real—the beach wasn't a dream," Sarah whispers.

"Exactly what I was thinking," Chuck replies. He runs his fingers through her hair. "You sleep well?"

"Ohhhh yes." Sarah stretches like a contented lioness. "Amazing, actually. I feel like every bone and muscle was taken out, polished, and put back just right."

"Same here. And best of all is waking up next to you."

She softly moans and pulls him down close to her for a fierce soul kiss.

The doorbell rings again.

"We're going to ignore that, right?" Sarah asks Chuck as she extends one long, trim leg and hooks it around his waist, in case she hadn't made her point clearly enough yet.

Now Chuck moans, but in exasperation. "Oh baby, you know I want to—but if that's Morgan he'll be in here through the door or window any moment now. He's probably already seen your car parked out back."

"_Allll _right, can't fault a girl for trying," pouts Sarah. "I know he's your best bud and that he and I were good friends too—but is his timing always this bad?"

Chuck just rolls his eyes, as the doorbell rings twice in rapid succession, followed by a brisk rapping on the front door.

"Might as well let him in then," Sarah says with resignation. She pops into the closet and emerges almost immediately in running shorts and one of Chuck's _Call of Duty_ T-shirts. She seems to be finding her way around the apartment with little trouble.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hurriedly combing out her bed hair, she says, "Something familiar about this scenario. Barstow—the motel—right?"

"Right...and _you've_ never let me forget that morning."

Sarah laughs and shoulder-bumps Chuck as they meet in the hallway. Chuck heads for the kitchen to put on some coffee, while Sarah goes to the front door to greet—_not_ Morgan, but rather—

—a statuesque, raven-haired woman in a crisp charcoal-grey business suit and jet-black wire-frame sunglasses, waiting attentively on the doorstep with a slender metal briefcase at her side. The woman smoothly pulls off the sunglasses with her left hand, and leans forward with a proffered right hand and a friendly expression.

"Good morning, Ms. Carmichael—or perhaps, Mrs. Bartowski...?"

Sarah scrutinizes her for a moment. "I know you—you're Juanita—"

"Juanita Saldana, that's right. I'm so glad you remembered me, Sarah." She shakes Sarah's hand vigorously, as Chuck appears in the doorway.

"And this? This must be the famous Agent Charles Carmichael, no?" Saldana asks.

As she reaches across to shake Chuck's hand, she leans in toward Sarah and softly murmurs, _"Muy guapo!" _Chuck suddenly remembers that he's still got boxer shorts on, and slips behind Sarah.

"I'm just Chuck now," he says. "Please come in. Would you like coffee?"

"Yes, won't you come in, Juanita?" Sarah asks sweetly. "Sorry that we're a little underdressed. We were up awfully late last night."

"Not a problem," Saldana says with a smile that, to Sarah, looks just a bit smug.

Moments later, the two women are sitting at the kitchen table. After a quick detour to the bedroom for a more presentable pair of shorts, Chuck pours everyone a mug of strong coffee, then sits down next to Sarah.

"Don't tell me," he begins. "Old colleagues, right?"

"Sort of," Sarah explains. "Agent Saldana and I trained together at the Academy early on, but rather soon we were placed into very different tracks. Based on our relative levels of tech skills, I recall. She's very much in _your_ league, sweetheart."

"Now you should not sell yourself short, Sarah," counters Saldana. "My recollection is that it had something to do with martial arts. I remember you breaking my arm..._twice!_" She winks at Chuck. "Both times by accident, of course!"

"Of course," says Sarah, mimicking Saldana's faintly smug smile.

"Of course," echoes Chuck, taking hold of his wife's hand beneath the table.

"So, Juanita, we haven't seen each other for something like—what—about twelve years, is it?" Sarah asks.

"Face to face, about that long, yes," replies Saldana, "…though I have also studied files from some of the missions you two have undertaken over the past five years."

Sarah's expression doesn't change, but under the table, she squeezes Chuck's hand _really_ hard, and he nearly drops the coffee mug from his other hand.

"—But that's not what I am here about," Saldana quickly continues. "I am fully aware that Agents Walker and Bartowski are no longer with the Agency. Instead I have come because the Agency requires the services of Carmichael Industries on a cybersecurity matter. More specifically, for a cyber-incident response."

Now Chuck is squeezing Sarah's hand excitedly. "Wow, really?" he asks.

"Really," says Saldana. She puts aside her coffee, opens her briefcase, takes out an iPad, and places it on the table. She taps the screen and brings up a grainy image of a large room filled with computer terminals. Chuck and Sarah lean in for a better look.

"Of course, I am not able to share too much detail in an unsecured location like your apartment, but our problem is with a secure cyberwarfare data-processing center that has been disabled—completely locked up, I should say—by a rather insidious virus or worm dispatched by an _as-yet_ unknown saboteur from an _as-yet _undetermined location."

Saldana looks up from the iPad and directly at Chuck. "We need someone who can counter the malware and fully restore the facility—"

Turning to Sarah, she continues, "—_And_ we need someone to forensically analyze all the human intel that we have collected, to help us determine who sent this malware in the first place. Chuck and Sarah, we think this is a perfect match to your respective skill sets. We are prepared to offer you whatever resources you need—and whatever _fees_ you consider reasonable—to get the job done. And bring the rest of your team if you so choose."

Chuck takes a deep breath and looks to Sarah. She subtly shifts her gaze away from the table and back, a gesture that Chuck takes to mean _Let's talk about this offline._

"Agent Saldana—" he begins.

"Juanita. Please."

"Juanita, this would be an exciting opportunity for us. But given that there are plenty of more-established cybersecurity firms out there, I've gotta wonder what brought you _here_."

Saldana smiles and pats his arm. "Ah yes, very astute. Again, I think that you and Sarah sell yourselves terribly short. But...I also don't think I am compromising anything if I tell you that your former boss General Diane Beckman had some influence. Thanks largely to her you both still retain your security clearances."

"Aha!" replies Chuck. "Can you tell us where this facility is located?"

"No, not unless and until you accept the assignment. Somewhere in the continental United States—that I can say."

"Is this on a short fuse? Can we have a little time to consider the offer?"

"A day or so…would not be a problem." Saldana, at a speed that impresses even Chuck, taps and sweeps out a series of commands on her iPad, then shuts it down and slips it back into her briefcase.

"All right," she says. "I've just sent my 24/7 contact number to your secure line, and linked you to the standard online forms for consulting contracts. As you can tell, I am anticipating that you will say yes. Feel free to run any of this by your legal counsel first if you wish. I believe that you do have a law firm on retainer?"

"Yes we do," replies Sarah.

"I think everything is covered then. Thank you very much for the delicious coffee." Saldana rises and shakes Chuck's and Sarah's hands once more. _"Adiós_, and I hope I will be seeing you again very soon. Please do not get up; you look so comfortable. I will let myself out."

Saldana pauses at the front door. "One more thing?"

"What is it?" Sarah asks.

"May I just say that as an old friend, Sarah, I am very glad to have found you both here together. Because I don't know if you know, but there are folks at Langley who have been secretly rooting for you two for some time now. Sometimes not so secretly."

As Saldana leaves, Chuck and Sarah catch sight of two more agents in dark suits waiting out in the courtyard.

"You don't trust her, do you?" Chuck asks quietly, while peeking at his watch.

"No," replies Sarah. "The offer intrigues me anyway. What do you think?"

"Sure I'm interested. But I've already made a promise to you, baby, about down time, and home, and healing."

Sarah takes her husband's face in her hands. "And I appreciate that, more than I can say. But Chuck, whatever else is foggy, I know for certain that you and I didn't fall in love sequestered in a bunker. We fell in love on the job, doing the things that we're good at."

"Like thwarting cyberterrorists?" Chuck asks.

"Exactly!" Sarah says, and kisses him enthusiastically. While trying to reciprocate with comparable passion, Chuck slowly opens one eye and gingerly lifts his watch into his field of view behind Sarah's head.

"Why (_kiss_)…do you keep looking (_kiss_)…at your watch?" Sarah asks him, sounding more curious than irritated.

"Because I figured (_kiss_)…we'd only get (_kiss_)…about thirty seconds alone before—"

_Bang!_ The front door flies open! Sarah reflexively jumps to her feet and pivots to put herself between the oncoming intruder and Chuck, while Chuck grins, knowing it's only—

—_Morgan,_ bounding across the room toward them in a near-frenzy.

"Chuck—and _Sarah!_ Sarah, oh thank God you're here, I'm so relieved—" He seizes them both at once in an overly dramatic hug, then nudges Chuck with his elbow. "It worked, didn't it, pal?"

Alex appears with a big, colorfully labeled box of _Subway®_ breakfast sandwiches. "Hi everyone!"

"And you're…Alex?" Sarah asks, tentatively. "You're Casey's daughter...right?"

"That's right, Sarah," Alex replies, and hugs her. "And I'm very happy to see you here."

But Sarah notices that Morgan is looking surprised and deflated that she didn't instantly know his girlfriend—and she recalls his theory about Chuck's kiss. So she takes her husband's left hand in hers and holds it so that their wedding rings are visible.

"Morgan, look," she says. "I remember I love him. I'm here...I'm _home_." She embraces Chuck, while Morgan and Alex look as if they are going to melt all over each other.

Blushing intensely, Chuck says, "Hey, I'm glad you guys brought some munchies! We have something really, really big to discuss."

"Yeah," replies Morgan. "We saw your visitors."

* * *

**Forty-eight minutes later**

"Hello, Juanita—I mean Agent Saldana? Chuck—uh—_Charles Carmichael_ here. We've checked our schedule and our team has decided to accept the offer…Yes, and thanks for those kind words. We will require an advance, of course…Oh yes, yes—one hundred thousand will suffice. And where do we meet you? Uh huh. Wow! Really! Yes, you can transmit the coordinates of the meeting site directly to our secure line. Thank you, and we will see you tomorrow. 'Bye now!"

Chuck puts down his phone and flashes two thumbs up. "Team Carmichael," he announces, "_we_ are going to _Vegas!"_

* * *

**Immediately afterward, across town**

In the front passenger seat of a government SUV, enroute to the airport, CIA Special Agent Juanita Saldana makes another call.

"Hello, Professor…I have your man, and he and his associates will be arriving tomorrow evening. So you may go down in the basement and turn on all the lights. Please, just be careful of what may be lying around down there. I have confirmed that our Mr. Carmichael is once more…um, _enhanced_…if you know what I mean…I agree, but we will deal with that….Yes, and good evening to you too, Professor."


	3. Chapter 2

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_. I just changed the channel.

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

**Third day, early morning, the apartment complex in Echo Park**

With Mary Bartowski at the wheel, the Woodcomb family minivan pulls into its designated parking space alongside the building. Ellie Woodcomb emerges from the front passenger side, just a bit stiffly, and stretches.

"Ugh, red-eye flights," she groans. "Mom, thanks again for picking us up at the airport."

"Happy to help, dear," replies Mary with a smile.

"Yeah, thanks," her husband Devon adds. He's farther back inside the vehicle, fiddling with the multiple straps and pads of their well-armored child car seat, freeing their little daughter Clara as carefully and gently as he can. "At least we've got a place in Chicago all set. If the movers can come and pick up everything today, we'll be in _awesome_ shape!"

"And _then_," Ellie replies, with a tinge of sarcasm, "we get to _drive_ all the way back there!" She turns, taking in the suburban surroundings they soon would trade for the urban Midwest. "Less awesome. I'm not looking forward to that—" Suddenly, her jaw drops.

"Ohh! Devon, Mom—_look!"_ Ellie shrieks, and sprints toward the courtyard entrance.

"Huh?" asks Devon, backing out of the minivan with Clara in his arms.

Mary points to Sarah's Lotus, parked next to Chuck's Nerd Herder. She and Devon gawk in astonishment at each other for a moment, then chase after Ellie, who is already knocking excitedly at Chuck and Sarah's front door. "Chuck? It's me! Chuck?..._Sarah?"_

"I don't think anyone's home, babe," Devon observes. "Morgan's not answering his doorbell either. Maybe you should call Chuck. We haven't checked on him in almost two days."

"No." Ellie takes a deep breath to calm herself down. "No, he made me promise I wouldn't be the overprotective big sister any more. If Chuck has news for us he'll tell us when he's ready. I don't want to get my hopes up too high—not yet anyway."

Still...she can't help but give Devon, Clara, and Mary a hug.

* * *

**Later, high above the Mojave Desert**

During the fifty-five-minute private jet flight from Burbank to Las Vegas, Chuck copies photos and videos of family and friends from his iPhone to Sarah's, as she looks on avidly. He copies them one by one, because each picture of course comes with its own story. For Sarah and Chuck, seated together at the rear of the cabin, it's something like their beach encounter all over again, with laughter and nudges and misty eyes punctuated by happy kisses. Only once do Sarah's emotions visibly flicker toward deadly anger—right after she tearfully watches a video of herself playing with her little stepsister Molly.

"That bastard would have taken her from me too," she says—quietly, but with eyes afire.

Chuck takes her hand. "You know we can go see Molly and your mom any time you like."

"I know." Sarah sighs and lays her head on his shoulder. "This is all wonderful but it's also kind of hard for me. I feel that I should remember _everything_ that you're showing me and I just can't, other than fragments here and there."

Chuck toggles his phone off. "Maybe this is too much, too soon? I'm sorry if—"

"Oh no, no—Chuck, I'm truly happy that you're doing this. I'm just frustrated with myself."

Chuck puts his arm around Sarah. "Baby, baby, this is not your fault and it'll be all right. We know it'll take time. But you and I will fix this and go on with the life we're meant to have."

"Every time you say things like that I feel a little bit better," says Sarah, leaning in closer to him. "I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't come for me on the beach."

"Well I did, because somehow you let me know you'd be waiting for me there. I figure there must be some bonds that are just too strong even for the most evil nemesis to break."

"Here's to that." With her forefinger, Sarah gently traces the image of giggling Molly on the screen of her iPhone. "Show me more pictures, Chuck."

"You've got it, my love," he tells her, first reaching back to scratch a pesky itchy spot just above his left shoulder blade.

* * *

**Meanwhile**

Seated at the opposite end of the cabin, discreetly separate from their friends, Morgan and Alex are experiencing all the adventure of their first flight together.

"You're _still_ doing it!" Alex exclaims at her bearded boyfriend, who has been sitting tense and ramrod-straight in his seat since the jet left the ground.

"I've _gotta_ do it for the whole flight," Morgan insists. "If I don't root for the plane to stay in the air—it won't!"

Alex throws her hands up. "How can a tech-savvy hard-nosed CIA-trained spy have so many superstitions?" Then, mischievously: "What if you were distracted? For example, I...could...do..._this!"_ She pokes and prods Morgan in a ticklish spot, making him immediately double over in his seat.

"Hey! Don't _do_ that! Alex!"

"_Aaaand_ nothing happens to the plane, did ya notice? Perhaps you weren't distracted quite enough?" Alex grabs Morgan's head in both hands and smacks her lips against his.

The jet immediately drops into a steep descent.

"See? _See?"_ yells Morgan as he pulls away from the kiss. But Alex laughs and points to the window: they're making their final approach into Las Vegas.

_(Music: "Vegas," by Sara Bareilles)_

The charter jet descends eastward over the still-snowy Spring Mountains, then banks to the south, following a course down the center of the wide Las Vegas basin: packed end to end with towering casino hotels, baize-green golf courses, and residential sprawl; laced together by throbbing freeways and boulevards. Dominating the near horizon to the east, Lake Mead winds backward behind Hoover Dam through an endless expanse of sawtooth mountains and canyons, a deep blue juxtaposed against the sunburnt red and brown rocks of the desert.

The wheels drop, and the jet touches down at McCarran International Airport. The early-spring midday sun is comfortably warm, and cheers the Carmichael Industries team as they disembark at the corporate terminal. The ground crew transfers their baggage into a pale-grey Ford Expedition. Then Chuck climbs in behind the wheel, Sarah sits shotgun, and Morgan and Alex pile into the back. The SUV rolls out of the airport onto Tropicana Avenue and then to the Strip, heading north to where the casinos are grandest and most numerous.

"Where are we staying?" Morgan asks excitedly, over and over again, as he gawks out the window at New York, New York...the MGM Grand...the Monte Carlo...the Bellagio...Paris Las Vegas...the Mirage. Finally, Chuck turns off the Strip into a wide, palm-lined drive leading to a shining silver monolith of a hotel, sixty stories tall.

"The La Plata Linda," says Sarah. "I'm impressed. Sure it's in our budget?"

"Well, we did get the government rate," Chuck replies.

Morgan is practically bouncing in the back seat. "Wow—this is the place that does the hourly fireworks shows at night, isn't it?"

All is vibrantly active around the hotel, even on a midweek afternoon. Chuck maneuvers the Expedition around idling limousines and taxis to the front entrance: all in glass, stainless steel, and chandeliers. He hands the keys to a valet in a silvery tuxedo that resembles a spacesuit. Before Chuck can exit the vehicle, Sarah turns to him and grasps his hand.

"I think this is exactly what I need right now. Thank you, love."

Chuck smiles and shrugs. "No need to thank me, baby—this is what we do."

As he steps down from the driver's seat, Sarah notices that he pauses for just a second to scratch his left shoulder against the headrest.

* * *

**Momentarily**

After checking his team into the hotel, Chuck hands Morgan and Alex the card key for their suite. The bags, including several hard-bodied cases of computer equipment and tools, are stacked neatly on luggage trolleys. In a subdued voice, Chuck goes over the schedule once more.

"So first, we sweep our rooms for bugs. Then we should all make sure to get a little rest in case this ends up being a long night. Meet for dinner downstairs at eighteen-thirty hours. Saldana wants Sarah and me ready for pickup ninety minutes after that, and you two have to be ready to roll out at that time also. Got it?"

Alex nods but Morgan is looking eagerly in the other direction, toward the noisy casino. Chuck grabs his shoulder and turns him around. "Work now, play later, buddy."

The two couples separate. Morgan and Alex head for the fifty-sixth floor. Chuck and Sarah's room keys allow them access to a private, glass-walled elevator to the fifty-ninth floor and their suite. They stand close together in the ascending cab, enjoying the dramatic view of the Strip. Chuck circles his arms around Sarah's waist from behind. She exhales slowly and relaxes against him.

"You know," he tells her, "once I came pretty close to being killed in one of these things while fleeing from some very sexy assassins—of course you and Casey saved me."

"From what? Are you sure they were trying to _kill_ you?" Sarah asks, slyly reaching one hand back to grab Chuck's butt.

The elevator doors open at the fifty-ninth floor. A portly, silver-haired, avuncular concierge greets them in the elegant foyer. The bellman has already brought the luggage into their suite and is waiting by the door. Chuck tips him generously and sends him on his way.

Sarah strolls around the suite, taking stock of the amenities with a discerning eye: 180-degree panorama of the city, king-sized bed with a dozen pillows, hot tub in the bathroom, full kitchen and wet bar, four flat-screen televisions, bouquets of white roses and lilies all over...

"Chuck, this is the _honeymoon_ suite, isn't it?"

He grins sheepishly. "Yeah—umm—it was available. Too much, too soon?"

"No, actually it's perfect for our cover," Sarah replies, utterly deadpan.

"Our..._what?"_ Chuck looks confused and a tad crestfallen, until Sarah finally cracks a smile and shoulder-bumps him.

"Kidding! C'mon—I'm pretty sure I remember that being some kind of an in-joke between the two of us. Am I wrong?" Then Sarah's face immediately turns serious, and she puts a finger to her lips.

"No, no, you're right. Hah, you _got_ me, babe!" Chuck nods and quietly unlatches one of the equipment cases. He takes out two hand-held surveillance detectors and passes one to his wife. Quickly, efficiently, Sarah and Chuck scan the entire suite and find no hidden transmitters or cameras.

"Clear," Chuck calls out.

"Clear," Sarah concurs. She sits down on the bed and pulls off her shoes. "Honestly I wasn't sure what to expect. This isn't a spy mission, but on the other hand this is still the CIA we're working with."

"If they want to, they'll try to put eyes and ears on us from nearby hotels, or maybe even use a drone," observes Chuck.

"And if so, aren't we rather exposed up here at the top of the hotel?"

In response, Chuck pulls up a YouTube video on his iPhone: taken during someone's Vegas vacation, a shaky, sometimes out-of-focus scene of the magnificent La Plata Linda Hotel tower at night, with sprays of silver and gold fireworks erupting in a great circle all around the top floors—like a crown—accompanied by _oohs_ and _aahs_ from the unknown cell-phone cameraman.

"Eight-minute shows on the hour every hour from nine p.m. to two a.m., seven days a week," notes Chuck. "So all the rooms on the upper floors of this hotel are outfitted with tinted safety glass and extra soundproofing. More or less impervious to all external mikes and cameras."

"And _that's_ the real reason you picked this suite," says Sarah, shooting her alpha-nerd husband a warmly admiring look. "I should have realized you'd do your homework."

"Yeah...well, there's still some risk of multispectral surveillance by a drone, but I've got a few countermeasures in mind." Chuck spots a comfortable-looking recliner on the far side of the bedroom and tries it out.

"_Sa-weeet!_" He rocks back and forth in the big chair. "Oh...and Sarah? That whole thing about our cover? Remembering _that_ is really important, I think..."

Sarah is listening to him, but _something moving on the wall draws her attention…._

"...you and I wasted a lot of time convincing ourselves that our relationship was just a cover, even long after it clearly—"

"Chuck! _Duck!"_ In an instantaneous blur of long limbs and flowing hair, Sarah reaches beneath her dress, takes out a throwing knife and hurls it—the knife flashes _(whoosh!)_ less than an inch above Chuck's head and _(whunk!) _impales something tiny on the wall behind him!

The blood drains from Chuck's face. "_Whoa!_ Babe!" he exclaims, lifting shakily out of the chair to see what Sarah had just nailed. "Honey, you got yourself a moth! Amazing shot, but when did you decide to start a bug collection?"

Sarah is immediately at his side, and she seems just as stunned by what just happened. "Chuck! I'm _so_ sorry to scare you like that—I don't know why I did that—something just came over me."

"It's okay—it's okay. Good to know I've still got my warrior protector with me."

She chuckles, and they hold each other for a moment. Then Chuck pulls the knife out of the wall, wipes it on his sleeve, and hands it back to Sarah.

"Maybe you should relax a little while," he suggests. "Grab a snack or a drink? It's all there and paid for. I'm going to do the same, but first I want to sneak a five-minute peek past the firewall into the hotel operations intranet. It might be helpful to us later on to know a little more about how this building functions..."

* * *

**Twenty minutes later**

Chuck has little trouble hacking into the hotel's building-maintenance systems, but once in, he finds enough potentially useful information that a five-minute peek extends to ten minutes, then twenty. From time to time he glances over at Sarah, who has fallen asleep atop the honeymoon bed, lying curled among her scattered inventory of knives and other small weapons all cleverly disguised as computer-repair tools.

Dreaming, Sarah turns onto her back. Her breaths come faster and she begins to murmur in her sleep.

"_Don't…don't freak out…we're ready…."_

Hearing this, Chuck jumps up from his laptop. He sits on the edge of the bed and studies his wife's peaceful visage, marveling at how much has changed in just three days.

"You saved me," she says, drowsily but matter-of-factly. Then she awakens. "Hey you."

"That goes both ways, you know," Chuck answers.

"Hmm?" Sarah pushes her weapons to the far edge of the bed and holds out her arms. "We're supposed to be resting up—isn't that what you said? So cuddle for a little while…."

* * *

**That evening**

_(Music: "Aragón, Fantasia from Suite Española," by Isaac Albeniz)_

Chuck and his team, sharp in their business attire, sit around an elaborate table in the grandiose La Plata Linda dining room, near a stage where a classical-guitar quartet plays. They are just close enough to the music to make eavesdropping difficult but far enough for them to hear each other. The cuisine is excellent, but nobody eats much because everybody is too amped up—though it would be hard to know this simply by looking at them, as they all banter and laugh and poke at each other like any normal group of corporate travelers.

After coffee, they roll.

Morgan and Alex quickly leave the building through the lobby, to retrieve the grey Expedition from valet parking. Sarah and Chuck take the briefcases they had concealed under their table and walk casually over to the private elevator.

At seven fifty-five precisely, the elevator doors open, and there is Agent Saldana with her iPad.

"Good evening, Chuck and Sarah. You look to be ready."

"Couldn't be more ready," Chuck replies.

"Then we'll be off."

The elevator brings them to the roof of the La Plata Linda, where a blue-and-white helicopter labeled U.S. BUREAU OF RECLAMATION idles, waiting for them. Saldana climbs in front next to the pilot. Chuck helps Sarah up into a rear seat, passes her the two briefcases, then climbs in beside her and slams the door shut.

Immediately, the pilot engages the rotors. Saldana signals Chuck and Sarah to put on headsets. The helicopter lifts up and out over the dazzling nighttime lights of the Strip sixty stories below.

_(Music: "Chuck Fills in the Blanks," by Tim Jones)_

Down there, in the Expedition, Alex is watching tracking signals from Chuck's and Sarah's iPhones on a dashboard-mounted monitor. When she notices that they are on the move, she nudges Morgan and points to the screen.

"Southeast," she tells him. Morgan guns the engine and they head out into the Sin City traffic, following Chuck and Sarah's course using a navigation program custom-designed by Chuck himself.

"Can we really keep up with a helicopter?" Alex asks.

"Depends on how far they go," replies Morgan. "Chuck said that as long as we don't fall more than fifty miles behind, we'll be fine."

"Let's hope. Fifty miles in any direction from here is open desert..."


	4. Chapter 3

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_ and, absent a timely grant from Volkoff, couldn't afford to buy it either.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

**Third day, late in the evening, in the air over southern Nevada**

Chuck and Sarah sit closely together in the darkened back seats of the government helicopter as it carries them over the suburbs of Las Vegas. They keep a careful watch through the open windows, attentive to any landmarks that can help them determine where they are headed. But after just a few minutes their destination is apparent, looming magnificently beneath them in the glow of dozens of floodlights.

"_Hoover Dam—huh!"_ says Chuck jauntily over his headset mike. _"I didn't think we were coming to repair turbines!"_

_"No worries,"_ Saldana replies with a laugh. _"That part of the dam is still working just fine."_

The pilot brings the helicopter over the top of the rugged rim of the Colorado River canyon downstream, then skillfully pivots into an escalator-like descent that carries them just below the high concrete arch of the O'Callaghan-Tillman Bridge, and down to a gentle landing atop the powerhouse at the base of the monumental dam. Sarah, no mean pilot herself, gives him an appreciative thumbs-up. The pilot nods in acknowledgment.

Even before the rotors completely stop, Saldana is out of the helicopter. She walks around the front to the passenger door on Sarah's side, carrying a black metal lockbox. By the time Sarah and Chuck have alighted and joined her with their briefcases in hand, the pilot has killed the engine, and the only sound is a soft but steady hum from the powerhouse below.

"Just so we are clear," Saldana says, pointing to the briefcases, "you may bring in whatever non-lethal devices you need to complete your tasks, but everything you take out of the facility—hardware or software—will be thoroughly inspected. And you both must be willing to submit to search if needed."

"Sure, that's standard procedure," replies Chuck. "Are you saying that you want to check inside our briefcases?"

"I already have," Saldana says, with another of her almost-smug grins. Then she opens the lockbox and holds in out. "And, Sarah—I need you to leave your gun here. Of course you may retrieve it when you depart the premises."

_"What?"_ asks Sarah. Chuck can't tell if she is truly astonished or just faking it perfectly.

"Sarah. Please. This is Reclamation policy, not ours. The agency that operates this dam."

"We're not _working_ for Reclamation," retorts Sarah.

"Play whatever games you wish," Saldana says with a shrug. "Either _you_ turn over your firearm, or _we_ turn around and go back. And if it makes any difference—I myself am not armed."

Chuck steps in between them. "Excuse us a moment, please, Agent Saldana?" He takes hold of his wife's elbow and walks her a few steps backward, out of earshot.

"Hey," he tells her, "if you're not good with this, we can bail out."

"I don't like it," Sarah replies, frowning. "_She's_ the one playing games. But this is too important to our future."

"We'll keep each other safe," says Chuck. "And _we_ can play mind games too."

Sarah smiles and takes his arm. The two of them stroll back, exchanging conspiratorial glances. Chuck nods, and Sarah winks at Saldana, before calmly removing her pistol from beneath her jacket and setting it carefully in the lockbox. Now Saldana looks confused and uncomfortable as she closes the lid and places the box inside the helicopter.

"Uhh...thank you for your, um, cooperation." She takes three white hard hats out of the helicopter, dons one, and hands the other two to Sarah and Chuck. They follow her down a stairway from the roof. Saldana waves a Reclamation ID to get them past an armed guard and into the pulsing powerhouse.

"This way, please." They walk along a corridor past imposing, seemingly endless banks of dials and switchboxes. The building smells of ozone and lubricating oil. Chuck looks around at all the equipment with great interest. Sarah walks beside him, making detailed mental notes of their path and all the potential exits along it.

"The only time we are able to access the facility," continues Saldana, "is between dusk and dawn, when the dam is closed to tourists. The pilot can fly you back to Las Vegas as needed, but only at night. If you are still in the facility at dawn you must stay until after sundown. Is this clear?"

"Yes—clear," Chuck answers.

_"This just gets better and better,"_ Sarah whispers into his ear.

"But don't worry," Saldana says. "The facility is well-provisioned, and there are even bunks for sleeping. Though I have never tried them out for comfort, myself."

Halfway down the corridor, Saldana turns to the left and leads Chuck and Sarah single-file through a narrow gap in the row of high-voltage apparatus, to the back wall of the building, behind which is the dam itself. There is a solitary closet door in the wall, marked STORAGE. The knob on the door is made of a transparent material and resembles an antique glass doorknob, except for its simpler rounded shape. Saldana grasps it firmly and holds on.

"Biometric security measures," she explains.

A few seconds later, the storage closet opens to reveal a concealed elevator, which carries Saldana, Sarah, and Chuck down, for more than a minute, to a room with riveted steel walls and a large, oval-shaped, watertight door—like a bulkhead in a submarine.

Saldana takes out her iPad and enters a command. The heavy door swings open with a soft hiss, and a gust of warm, musty air hits them. Saldana leads Chuck and Sarah forward into a tubular passageway as wide as a two-lane road, with rusted metal walls and an elevated catwalk down the middle. The only light comes from dingy industrial fixtures hanging high above them. About fifty feet ahead of them is another bulkhead and another watertight door. The sound of their footsteps on the catwalk reverberates in the empty tunnel, and when they are halfway to the second door, the one behind them slams shut.

At the second bulkhead, Saldana again taps her iPad to open the door—revealing another fifty feet of tunnel, catwalk, and—

"Would you believe..._another_ door?" asks Chuck.

Saldana looks back over her shoulder. "And two more after it. All for safety, more than security. We are inside an abandoned water diversion tunnel about six hundred and forty feet below the surface of Lake Mead. We would prefer to keep the lake where it is."

Beyond the fifth and final watertight door, everything is different. Saldana, Sarah, and Chuck emerge into a well-lit, air-conditioned room that resembles the vestibule of a conventional office building, except for the absence of windows. Framed photographs of Hoover Dam hang on earthtone walls. Stylish chairs and a couch occupy the front half of the room. At the other end sits a security guard, at a desk alongside a large, beige door.

This time Saldana shows her CIA badge, and the guard nods. Then she looks to Chuck and Sarah, and in a friendly voice asks, "IDs, please?"

Sarah reaches for her own badge, and is nonplussed when she abruptly remembers she no longer has one. Chuck gently puts a reassuring hand on her arm and produces his drivers license. Sarah quickly does the same. The guard enters their data into a terminal on her desk.

After a moment, she looks up, says "Thank you," and hands them both yellow visitor's badges to pin on. Then she presses a button on her desk, and the beige door slowly slides open.

"Here we are at last!" says Saldana enthusiastically, beckoning to Chuck and Sarah to follow her inside. "Welcome to..._Deep Skillet."_

As the three of them walk through the wide doorway and into the facility, Sarah deftly places herself between Chuck and Saldana, just in case he flashes on anything he sees.

He _doesn't_ flash—but his jaw drops almost to his chest. Spread out before them is a cavernous room with drop ceilings and subdued lighting, dense with late-model computer workstations and terminals. Clusters of high-definition flatscreens hang from the ceiling in several places. A line of electronics workbenches, each fully stocked with tools and components, extends along an entire wall. The air inside is cool, but dry, with none of the musty odor of the tunnel. Sarah and Chuck hear classical music playing faintly in the background. Four young, white-suited technicians are in constant motion around the room: tapping on keyboards, checking cables underneath benches, looking up at the flatscreens, taking notes on tablet computers, and occasionally conversing quietly with each other.

Though Deep Skillet is impressive, something is clearly wrong. Nobody is working at any of the terminals. All of the screens are winking off and on, going in and out of focus, displaying only bizarrely colored patterns and strings of random characters. The white-suited technicians appear to be calm but very, very confused.

Chuck looks at Sarah and lets out a long breath. "Baby, we've got our work cut out for us."

Saldana ushers them to an elegant conference table in the center of the room. "Please be seated. And feel free to remove your hard hats."

Two of the technicians bring them water, coffee, and a plate of fruit and pastries. Chuck eagerly grabs a donut while Sarah takes a small bunch of grapes. Saldana again taps on her iPad, and one of the flatscreens above them pivots down for better visibility.

An old black-and-white photo of Hoover Dam under construction appears on the screen.

"As you may know," Saldana begins, "the dam was built between 1931 and 1936. During that time the Colorado River was diverted around the dam site through tunnels that were excavated through the canyon walls. Four tunnels were dug, but only two ever carried any water."

The image changes to another old photo: the completed dam, with a massive crowd milling about on top, in front of a large bunting-draped platform bearing the Presidential seal.

"FDR dedicated the dam, I recall," says Sarah.

"Correct," replies Saldana. "When Hoover Dam was completed, two of the diversion tunnels were retained for emergency spillways, and the other two were taken out of service and sealed at each end." She gestures at the room around them. "We are sitting in one of those two sealed tunnels."

The flatscreen now shows a very grainy shot of a tunnel crammed with tanks and piping.

"The Manhattan Project first made use of this tunnel in the early 1940s, carving out this room deep inside for a secret research laboratory. They took advantage of the plentiful electrical power generated by the dam."

The next image is of an array of 1970s-era data processing equipment, with its enormous reels of magnetic tape.

"For the next three decades the facility was disused, until DARPA rediscovered it in the late Seventies and christened it Deep Skillet. It served various purposes and was periodically upgraded. In mid-2009 it was transferred to the CIA, and we've been using it for research on defenses against cyberattacks. Which brings us to the present—rather ironic—situation."

Chuck, with the last bite of his donut still in his mouth, laughs. "Yeah. So when exactly was the attack?"

Saldana glances at her iPad. "20 May 2011. A Friday. 1620 hours local time."

"Hell of a way to start off the weekend," says Chuck.

"And which would suggest," Sarah adds, "that you brought in other experts to try and fix things before you turned to us. Right?"

"One or two," admits Saldana, "though the main reason for the almost ten-month delay is that the Agency had all but decided to gut Deep Skillet after all the systems went down. But a quite influential scientist managed to convince my superiors that the facility could be worth saving. He comes here on a regular basis, so you will probably meet him at some point."

"That'll be fine," says Chuck. "I assume you have full system schematics and activity logs on a clean computer somewhere? First thing I need to do is learn my way around here."

"Of course," Saldana replies. "And to facilitate Sarah's forensic sleuthing, we've also set up an uninfected terminal with a secure link into the appropriate CIA, NSA, and CYBERCOM databases." She nods toward a technician standing partway across the room, at a terminal that is displaying a blue screen with the Agency logo rather than multicolored gibberish.

"Is there anything else we can get for you?"

Chuck abruptly stands up, shucks off his jacket, and drapes it carefully over the back of his chair. Dumbfounded, Saldana watches him remove his tie and dress shirt to reveal a black T-shirt with the words _**I'm here because you broke something**_ in large white letters. Then he cracks his neck, left and right, and lifts his briefcase up onto the fancy conference table.

"Just stand back," says Sarah with a wry smile, as she gets up and heads over to her workstation.

"Actually, there _is_ something else," Chuck adds. "Can we change the music in here?"

* * *

**Far above, at the main entrance to Hoover Dam**

The young Bureau of Reclamation police officer is sympathetic, but firm.

"I'm _very_ sorry, folks," he tells the young couple in the grey Expedition idling at the main gate. "Hoover Dam is closed to visitors at night. You can come back at six-thirty tomorrow morning."

"Awww nuts," says Morgan, at the wheel, looking very downcast. "But—but my sweetheart here, and me, we came all the way here from L.A. Tonight! Just so the two of us could stroll across that dam, hand in hand, under the stars. And I _really_ hate to disappoint my sweetheart." He reaches across the front seat and pats her knee.

"It's _sooo_ pretty, even from here," coos Alex, peering down into the canyon at the floodlit dam through a pair of binoculars. She turns to the officer and pouts. "Are you _sure_ there's no way we can get even just a little closer? What if we went around to the other side?"

"There's no longer any access from the Arizona side, ma'am," he replies. "Not since the bypass bridge was opened. I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to ask you to turn around now."

"Well, you have a good night, anyway," says Morgan. As he turns the Expedition around and heads back to the main highway, Alex nods her head.

"Saw it," she tells him. "The helicopter is down there at the bottom of the dam."

"Chuck and Sarah must be inside somewhere," Morgan says. "All that concrete and rock...that explains why we lost their signal. Didn't expect they'd take 'em in _there_."

"Well, in hindsight, it's got to be one of the most secure places around here," observes Alex. "What do we do now?"

"Find the closest spot we can park without attracting notice, and wait. I'm sure everything's okay. But Chuck told me—if there's no contact from them after eight hours, then we call _these_ people for help."

Morgan takes a business card from his shirt pocket and shows it to Alex. She reads it, and mouths a silent _wow_.

* * *

**Later, in Deep Skillet**

_(Music: "Modern Man," by Arcade Fire)_

Seated at her workstation, Sarah is immersed in operational records and personnel files, poring through details on anyone with even a remote connection to Deep Skillet operations or security. She takes copious notes on a tablet computer by her side. From time to time she sighs, whenever she comes across potentially useful text or images that have been redacted by the Agency.

And every so often, she glances over in amusement and affection for her husband: in his geeky black T-shirt and completely in his element, unselfconsciously bouncing and juking in a squeaking office chair to the cranked-up beat of his favorite satellite music channel, typing out code lightning-fast on a semicircle of different keyboards, searching for the tiniest response to his repeated digital hellos from a bank of confounded monitor screens, and occasionally looking down at a laptop—literally in his lap—the one that holds the detailed schematics for the entire failed cyber system.

"All he's missing is the chardonnay," Sarah says to herself—and wonders where _that_ came from. Then she notices that her own shoeless feet are also tapping softly to the music.

"All _right then!_" says Chuck loudly and with finality. He pushes himself away from the monitors and comes over to join Sarah.

"Hey, babe. You okay with this music?" He bends down to nuzzle her ear. Sarah laughs and squirms a little because it tickles.

"Ha! Watch it there, you! Sure—I like it, though I have to admit I haven't paid much attention to what's been playing." She taps her monitor screen. "It's a little on the loud side, don't you think?"

_"Pretty good countermeasure against bugs, huh?"_ Chuck whispers in her ear.

_"I know,"_ Sarah whispers in return. _"But watch it—maybe the robot can read lips." _She nods toward Saldana, who is conferring with a couple of technicians over on the far side of the room, with her iPad out as always.

_"Right."_ Chuck looks at the files displayed on Sarah's screen. "Gotten any good leads?"

"Nothing yet," she replies. "But on the other hand, it's been kind of a refresher for me on plenty of intel that I'd forgotten. Like that we took out bin Laden, for example...and there's a new CIA Director since last fall. And several of the files make reference to somebody named Kardashian—haven't quite figured who that is yet."

"Oh, she's a baddie all right," Chuck avers. "By the way, baby, while I'm here, would ya do me a little favor?" He twists to his left and points toward his left shoulder blade. "Give me a quick scratch right _here_? I can't reach it and this itch has been plaguing me since we left home. I think something must have bitten me."

"So _that's_ how come you've been hopping around on the chair over there," jokes Sarah as she pulls on Chuck's collar and peers down his back. "Yeah, you've got a little welt there...but don't you know you're _not_ supposed to scratch it and make it worse?"

"Easy for _you_ to say," he groans.

"You just need to focus on something else. Here's something else." Sarah pops up from her seat, grabs her husband's head in both hands, and kisses him with plenty of heat. When she releases him, Chuck is wobbly, but happy.

"Does that mean that you solved the problem?" Saldana calls out.

"Well," says Chuck, "I think I _might_ just have an idea of what's going on. Shall we try a little test of my hypothesis?"

He goes over to the workbenches along the wall and pulls a laptop PC from a rack. While walking back to the main battery of computers, he flips the laptop open and boots it. Sarah and Saldana join him as he places the laptop down next to one of the infected terminals with its endlessly kaleidoscopic, meaningless screen display. Chuck fishes behind the device for a cable and connects it to the laptop.

_"Excuse me!"_ he calls out to the technicians. "Would you turn the music down just for a moment...That's great, thanks!" Then Chuck starts the satellite radio player on the laptop, and suddenly the same song that had been pumping out of overhead speakers is now playing much more softly from the speakers in front of them.

Chuck pulls up a seat in front of the laptop. Saldana takes another alongside him while Sarah leans against the back of his chair and looks on.

"Okay," he says. "I'm going to use this as if it's just another network terminal, and try hacking into the main system. I don't have the username or password, but as a rule, I'm able to get in to most secure systems in about a minute or so." He flexes his fingers.

"Ah yes," says Saldana dryly. "The fabled 'Piranha.' I remember that from your file."

"But the thing is—if I'm right—I won't even get that much time. Watch closely."

Sarah puts her hands on Chuck's shoulders as he starts typing. A few lines of code show on the laptop screen—then there is a clearly audible _boing!_—and the screen begins to display the same random characters and patterns as all the other computers.

"So you've infected this computer with the same malware," observes Saldana.

"Yes—but _listen!"_ The laptop is still playing the song. Chuck fiddles with the volume keys, but the sound does not change. He holds down the on-off button, which would normally shut off the device after a few seconds, but nothing happens. The music keeps on playing, and the display keeps throwing out incoherent symbols and psychedelic colors.

Chuck sits back and folds his arms.

"_¡Dios mío!_ It's the BIOS—I'll—I'll be _damned!"_ Saldana blurts out with surprising vehemence. She waves her hand around at the other computers in the room. "Whole system, the same _pinche_ thing?"

"I presume. Haven't had time to check them all out yet, though," Chuck answers.

He looks over his shoulder at Sarah. "So this virus—or maybe it's a worm—selectively attacks _only_ the so-called basic input-output system—the circuits that control the monitors, keyboards, touch screens, mice, and so on. All the means of communication with the outside world. It doesn't mess with the operating system or the core processors at all."

"You mean that all these computers are still functional—just _deaf, dumb, and blind?" _Sarah asks him, catching on quickly. "All the data are still stored and intact?"

"I think so," replies Chuck. "I'm pretty sure of it, actually."

"Who'd come up with a virus like that?"

Chuck ponders this for a moment. "I suppose, someone who might want to be able to use the computers or get at the data later. Maybe our mystery saboteur has some way of getting past his or her own booby traps."

"What about _you?"_ Saldana asks him. "How are _you_ going to get this malware out if you can't get in?"

"The difficult we do right away. The impossible might need a bit more time." Chuck looks to Sarah again. "How about that for a new Carmichael Industries slogan?"

"Think I've heard that used somewhere before," she says, "but I like it."

"I would think," continues Chuck, "that this must not have come in via the web. Something wide-eyed drooling crazy as this would have hit other systems and we'd all have heard about it by now. So it must have been brought into Deep Skillet physically—in hardware or firmware. Maybe something as simple as an infected thumb drive."

"Hey! _Hey!"_ says Sarah excitedly. "Chuck, you've just made my job a lot simpler. With _that_ constraint I should be able to narrow down my profiling by quite a bit. Thanks, my love!" She gives him a kiss on the cheek and dashes back to her workstation.

Chuck sighs, leans back in his chair, and checks his watch. "We've still got about four hours until sunrise. Agent Saldana, I think you're gonna need to shop for some new BIOS chips and new peripherals. I'll make you a list. Then I'll get to work on turning this here Skillet back up to high temp."

* * *

**A little later**

In a concealed room—more like a vacant loading dock—separate from the main area of Deep Skillet, sits a solitary man in a wheelchair, carefully observing every move of Chuck and Sarah through one-way glass. The man is bald, with wire-frame glasses, and robust, at least from the waist up.

Agent Saldana appears and stands next to him. Together they watch for a while.

"How are we doing?" he asks her.

"Not bad at all, Professor."

"Has Chuck flashed?"

"Not that I have noticed. Apparently he hasn't needed to engage the Intersect—at least, not yet."

"He is as brilliant as I remember. And he has a formidable and dangerous wife and partner. Juanita, my dear, you would be well advised to handle them both with extreme care."


	5. Chapter 4

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_. But until I finish this story at least, _Chuck_ owns me.

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

**Fourth day, mid-afternoon, the apartment complex in Echo Park**

_(Music: "Good Riddance [Time Of Your Life]," by Green Day)_

As the Woodcomb family completes the last few bittersweet little chores in and around their empty apartment, before leaving it for good, Ellie slips away to the courtyard fountain. She sits on the edge and stares pensively at Chuck and Sarah's front door for a few minutes, until Devon comes looking for her.

"We've had a lot of fun times in this courtyard," he observes, sitting down next to her.

Ellie only nods yes, and tears appear in the corners of her eyes.

Devon gently puts an arm around her. "I'm sorry you weren't able to say goodbye to him."

Through her tears, Ellie chuckles. "I've gotten accustomed to that."

They sit quietly together for a moment, accompanied only by the gentle gurgling of the fountain and Ellie's occasional sad sniffles. Devon takes a pack of tissues from his pocket and offers one to his wife.

"Th—thanks," she says. "I keep thinking of all those times Chuck used to disappear for days without telling us anything. Before I knew what he and Sarah and Casey were really doing. Then, after I found out, all I cared about was my little brother's safety—"

"For good reason," Devon interjects.

"Well, yeah. But you know what? I'm actually hoping—honest to God hoping—that right now, he's off doing something like that again, just as long as it's with Sarah—_his_ Sarah, the real Sarah—there with him. Even if it's dangerous. Better _that_ than the pain he was feeling when we saw him last...Devon, is it awful for me to want that?"

"No, babe, it's not," he assures her. "They are who they are. And we've gotta trust that Sarah's car out back is a good sign. You know that Chuck wasn't going to give up on her—not ever."

"No, he wasn't." That thought cheers Ellie considerably. She takes another tissue to dab her eyes. "You're probably here to tell me it's time for us to leave, right?"

"Yes," Devon says. "I was over there talking with the movers about their route to Chicago. They said that going through Las Vegas and up to Denver is the shortest way by about a hundred miles, but there's some bad weather along the way in Utah. So they're going to take a more southerly route through Albuquerque and Oklahoma City. I was thinking we'd go that way too, if you don't have any objections."

"Why not?" asks Ellie with a shrug of her shoulders. "I don't mind bypassing Vegas."

* * *

**That evening, on the fifty-ninth floor of the La Plata Linda Hotel**

Because the most logical place for Team Carmichael to meet and debrief is the spacious and secure honeymoon suite, Chuck summons Morgan and Alex to join him and Sarah there for a working dinner. Room service brings them platters of grilled shrimp and andouille sausage over spicy rice, bowls of spring green salad, baskets of fresh-baked bread, chilled beers and sodas, topped off with a huge deep-dish apple pie and a gallon of honey vanilla ice cream...and happily, everything tests free of surveillance devices.

All four of them—half-starved after subsisting on nothing but a few snacks over the preceding night and day—dig in with gusto. They carry their heaping plates over to the panoramic windows, where they sit and look out over the Strip as it shifts back into full-on party mode from one end of town to the other.

In the middle of dinner, Chuck steps away to take a phone call from Agent Saldana. From across the room, Sarah watches him exchange a few words with their client, then glance back at her with a boyish grin that's been growing more and more familiar to her.

"What was that about?" Morgan asks him after he returns to the group.

"In a minute," says Chuck, sitting down next to Sarah on a white-and-silver couch with a heart-shaped back. "Let's get to our debriefing first. But do feel free to keep on enjoying this sumptuous feast, courtesy of the newly plumped-up C. I. expense account."

He passes a tablet computer to Morgan and Alex. "Let's start with the basic layout and system configurations for the Deep Skillet facility. Have a quick look now and you can study them in more detail later. I sketched these out from memory, of course—Saldana is none too keen on letting anything leak in or out of her pipeline, so to speak."

Sarah groans. "A really really _deeply_ buried pipeline. It's way too much like a CIA detention facility for my tastes."

"Geez!" Morgan exclaims as he navigates through Chuck's detailed drawings and notes on the tablet computer, with Alex looking over his shoulder. "That's a crapload of computing power packed in there. And the whole enchilada crashed from corrupted BIOS?"

"Seems to be," replies Chuck. "Sarah's still working out the backstory but she's already found something critically important. Would you bring 'em up to speed, please, babe...?"

Sarah puts down her beer. "Sure. I've been analyzing various intel streams to learn what I can about who might have sabotaged Deep Skillet—and maybe even why."

"We think it happened from the inside, somehow," Chuck says.

"That's right," continues Sarah. "I haven't identified any likely individual or group—but in the process I _did _discover that the timeline to the cyber-incident Saldana gave us doesn't quite match up with the facts."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks. "She misled you?"

"So it appears. Because, according to her, the CIA has been running Deep Skillet since 2009. But I found the utility invoices for the facility—the electricity bills from Hoover Dam. The dummy corporation fronting for the CIA has only been buying power since mid-May 2011. For at least two years before that, they weren't using any power to speak of. The facility was dormant."

Chuck toasts her with his beer bottle. "Brilliant, huh?" he asks Morgan and Alex. " She zeroed in on a little throwaway comment from Saldana about cheap power being a big selling point for the use of the old tunnel."

Sarah looks pleased, if a bit embarrassed. "Well, it was a fortunate guess. So now we know that the cyber-attack came _less than a week_ after Deep Skillet was brought on line by the CIA."

"Which might indicate a direct link between the first event and the other," notes Alex.

"That's exactly what Chuck and I thought," says Sarah. "Perhaps the Agency really brought us here to clean up a mess of _its own_ making." She stands up and carries her plate to the dessert trolley, homing in on the pie and ice cream.

"A mess that's ours to clean up, whatever the cause," Chuck notes. "Ball back to my court. I figure the only way to fix the infected machines is through some kind of kludged interface that the malware wouldn't recognize as an input-output device. Suggestions welcome."

Nobody speaks for a while. Chuck pulls on his beer while Sarah cuts a wedge of pie with surgical precision. Then Morgan's bushy eyebrows lift with an epiphany.

"Umm, buddy—maybe I shouldn't be saying this, given recent history—but there is _one _device here that just might meet or exceed those specifications."

He points to Chuck's forehead.

"Wow," replies Chuck. "Hadn't thought of that—"

Sarah drops the pie server with a loud clatter and looks at Chuck with alarm.

"What if that's what they _want?_ What if they _know_ about you?"

"Wow," Chuck says again. "Hadn't thought of _that_ either. Wow." He links his fingers behind his head, leans back, and stares up at the ceiling. Sarah comes back across the room quickly and sits down beside him on the couch.

"Maybe it's _my_ turn to suggest that we bail on this job?" she asks him, gently.

"Dunno," Chuck says, looking into her worried eyes while mustering as much confidence as he can. "Hate to do that now. I—_we_—we should think and talk about all our options."

He squeezes Sarah's hand and turns back to the whole team.

"Anyway, we _don't_ have to decide on that quite yet. Saldana called to say that it would take eight to twelve hours for the new peripherals to be delivered to Deep Skillet and installed. So the place is down and we all have to take the night off. We'll meet up again tomorrow at noon."

"Mandatory fun," says Morgan, who's slipped over to the dessert trolley. "In _Vegas_. Geez, that could be tough. Hey Sarah, are you going to eat this piece of pie...?"

Not long afterward, Morgan and Alex have departed for their mandatory fun and the dinner dishes have all been taken away. Chuck and Sarah are still sitting on the couch, enjoying the city lights, with his arm around her back and her head on his shoulder.

"And what about us, Sarah? Do you want to go out, or just kick back here?"

"Take me out dancing, Chuck," she replies without hesitation. "Last week at the Russian consulate, we were so good—but I wasn't in the right state of mind to appreciate it. I'd like to try it again with you."

She gives him an awkward but sweet smile. "I even brought the navy blue dress."

Chuck is delighted. "I'll get my suit." He rises from the couch and extends a hand to his wife to help her up. Then he slaps his forehead and rolls his eyes. "Oops, before I do—almost forgot I need to make a quick call. To Ellie. Hope she still has her secure phone."

"Oh right!" exclaims Sarah, headed for the wardrobe. "I completely forgot...you two haven't talked since we left, and she's probably really anxious for you by now."

"Yeah, that's part of it. But I also gave something to Ellie that I didn't think I'd want back, not quite so soon anyway." He pulls out his iPhone to call his sister. "I'll explain while we're getting ready."

* * *

**Forty minutes later**

In the sequined navy blue dress and the well-cut charcoal-grey suit, Sarah and Chuck are perfectly outfitted for an elegant night as they ride the glass elevator down to the hotel lobby, on a mission to locate the concierge and—by any means necessary—extract his expert advice on the best place in Vegas to boogie.

"How 'bout we agree to no more talk of malware or dams or anything going wrong?" Chuck suggests. "Not tonight, anyway. Deal?"

"Deal," says Sarah fervently, grabbing his arm and swaying in an exaggerated way to the canned jazz playing in the elevator cab.

Chuck laughs. "Babe, if you can look _that_ good with music _that_ bad, I can't wait to get you out on an actual dance floor."

"Huh-uh, be careful what you wish for! All I'll say is I hope you took your vitamins this morning, 'cause I'm—"

She's interrupted by the buzzing of her iPhone.

"It's Alex...Hi Alex, what's up? You're—wait, you're in trouble _where?_ He's _what?_ It's okay, it's okay—we're actually on our way down now and we'll be there right away. Just keep him away from there until we find you. Don't worry."

After she ends the call, Sarah sighs. "Roulette. Morgan."

"That was fast," replies Chuck. "Oh well...at least we won't be underdressed."

"Speaking of which...here, turn this way. Hmm—your tie's not quite straight." She adjusts it. "There. Perfect!"

The elevator reaches the ground floor. Sarah and Chuck walk briskly across the busy hotel lobby and into the vast, lavish, crowded La Plata Linda Casino.

"Where should we look?" he asks.

"There's nowhere you can sit for free in a Las Vegas casino," Sarah says. "Alex said she got him away from the roulette tables, so my guess is they're at the bar."

They are. Morgan sits, staring vacantly out at the casino floor, clutching a glass of what looks like grape soda, with a little umbrella sticking out of it. A few low-dollar chips are scattered on the bar in front of him. Alex sits on the next stool, downcast, with her hands resting limply on his shoulders.

"Hey, _hey,_ you guys," Chuck calls out to them. "Whatever you lost, it can't be as awful as you're making it look."

"About seventeen grand," Morgan mumbles. "I thought I could win it back—kept trying and trying and...I'm so sorry, buddy. I screwed up big time."

"It was _my_ fault," argues Alex. "I suggested he try his hand at playing rou—"

"How did you get _that_ much money to gamble with?" Sarah interjects.

"Room key," replies Morgan. He takes it out of his pocket and drops it on the bar. "Just showed it, and like that they gave me a players account and a line of credit."

"Credit on the _company_ tab, you mean," Sarah counters, a tinge of ice in her voice.

Chuck waves his hands. "It's all right—take it easy—let's not all freak out, okay? Morgan, Alex...don't worry." He puts an arm around each of them. "I made this same mistake myself once. Except that it was government funds, and as I recall it was, um, a little bit north of seventeen thousand—"

_"Hah!"_ Sarah blurts out. "_That's_ an understatement! And _I_ was _so_ angry with you—I couldn't believe you'd...you'd be…."

Her voice trails off as Chuck turns toward her in surprise. They stare at each other: open-mouthed at first, then beaming with shared delight.

"I can fix this," Chuck says after a moment, addressing Morgan but still looking into Sarah's eyes. "How much is left?"

Morgan sorts through the chips on the bar. "Looks like about two hundred. Sorry."

"Leave me half of that. Then go cash in the rest, get out of here, and take Alex to a movie or something. You got that?"

"Yeah buddy, I got it. Really sorry." Morgan scoops up his room key and a few of the chips, then takes Alex's hand and shamedly leads her through the crowd toward the cashier.

"And _thanks,"_ Alex yells out as they disappear from view.

Sarah kisses her husband. "I'm sorry that I was starting to lose my temper with them. I was feeling a little peeved about us being diverted from our primary mission."

"We'll get there, baby. Lots of night left. Just have to complete this sub-mission first." He gathers the five twenty-dollar chips Morgan left on the bar, and places them in her hand. "You know, Sarah, my epic fail at roulette has haunted me ever since it happened. Even then I should have known better."

"Bottom line was you were trying to impress me, weren't you?"

"I was. Instead—one of my dumbest moves ever. But still, I'm really glad that you remembered it. Especially because now I've got a chance to make up for it. Sort of."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, C. I. can probably handle the loss, but Morgan's really bummed—and I know _exactly_ how he feels. So we're going to go win back what he lost. Then, dancing."

"Playing roulette? Oh sure," says Sarah, nudging him with her elbow. "I mean, I did just recall that you lost a hundred thousand once on a single spin. Should I have also remembered that you've become a much better player since then?"

"_Upgraded_ is probably a better way to describe it," Chuck explains in a subdued tone. "You know that with the Intersect I'm able to compute the trajectories of hazardous things like throwing stars coming at me in a split-second—fast enough that I can dodge them. Right?"

"Right…"

"So, in theory, I should also be able to compute the trajectory of one little ball rolling around and around inside a rotating wheel for whole seconds at a time. Don't you think?"

"Did you ever actually _try_ it?"

"Oh, dozens of times," Chuck replies. "But only in my head. Still, we clearly have little to lose," he adds, nodding at Sarah's small fistful of twenty-dollar chips. He puts his arm around her and pivots them both in the direction of the roulette tables.

"Well what are we waiting for? Let's go break the bank," says Sarah, scrunching in closer to Chuck as they stroll together across the casino, her eyes sparkling with amusement as her fingers toy with the chips in her hand. "Your devil-may-care confidence is catching—_and_ a turn-on."

"Part of the plan," he says with a sly smile.

Chuck locates a table with twenty-dollar minimum betting, and leads Sarah to it. At the sight of the lovely, leggy blonde in the glamorous sequined black dress, the bettors crowded around the table part to let her in. With Chuck standing directly behind her, Sarah sets their five chips in a stack on the edge of the table, to be exchanged for the special chips used in roulette. The other players do double-takes at the seeming mismatch between Chuck and Sarah's dressy attire and their meager stake. But the dealer is nothing but cordial.

"Your preference, madam?" he asks her, holding out a large tray of roulette chips arrayed in a rainbow of different colors. Sarah checks the table to see what colors are already in use.

"Chocolate brown, I think," she tells the dealer. "Always a lucky color for me." She smiles as Chuck leans forward and kisses the back of her head. The dealer sweeps her stack into a receptacle and passes five brown chips to her.

Chuck turns his attention to the croupier at the rotating silvery wheel at the other end of the table—and triggers a flash.

_"Let me check out a couple of his spins first,"_ he whispers in Sarah's ear. She nods, almost imperceptibly.

The croupier tosses the ball counter to the spin of the wheel. It rolls around the outside again and again, as the gamblers hurriedly put their bets down across the numbered squares and colored bars of the green felt layout.

_"When we're ready, babe, we'll stick to inside bets. Much bigger payoffs when we hit."_

_"Roger that,"_ Sarah whispers back._ "In and done before they know what happened."_

After several revolutions of the ball, the croupier waves a hand and the dealer calls out "No more bets!" All eyes at the table are on the ball as it gradually slows down and drops—into the green double-zero pocket. It's the best outcome for the house, and the gamblers groan, almost as one. The dealer collects all of the bets, and then the next game begins.

With players throwing chips down frantically on both sides of her, Sarah stands coolly by, as Chuck brings his supercomputer brain to bear on the multiple motions of the croupier's hand, the wheel, and the ball…which lands on eleven black. A few players who made low-risk outside bets on odd versus even or the color black win nominal payouts, but most of them lose again.

The croupier sends the ball out again. Chuck studies it as it circles the wheel, subliminally tracking its changing position and velocity for the Intersect to process. In his mind, Chuck sees the wheel slowing down until he can read the numbers on the pockets; sees the ball losing momentum and descending inexorably toward one specific pocket...

_"Got it—33. One chip, corner bet on 33. Let's start small."_

Sarah snaps into action and plunks a chip down on the intersection of the 32, 33, 35, and 36 boxes, about a half-second before the dealer halts the betting. Then she resumes her calm, controlled pose, waiting for the outcome.

Thirty-three wins, for an eight-to-one payout on the corner bet. The dealer sweeps away all the chips but Sarah's, then deftly stacks eight more on top of hers. She collects them as Chuck kisses the back of her head again and whispers more instructions.

Sarah wagers forty on another corner bet, this time on 9, and earns another eightfold payout. She has a sizable pile of chips in front of her now. She leans back as if for another kiss, but instead presses her lips to Chuck's ear.

_"You...are hot!"_ she tells him, and punctuates that with a playful bite on his earlobe. _"But are we going too fast? Maybe sandbag 'em for a round or two to keep security at bay?" _She points with her eyes at the camera directly above them.

_"Good idea."_ He looks over her shoulder to the spinning roulette wheel just as the croupier throws the ball again. _"Straight bet anywhere you like, then. Just leave me five hundred."_

Sarah bets on zero. The ball lands on 25. A man in a studded black leather jacket on the other side of the table wins his even-money bet on red and starts cheering lustily, drawing all the attention to him.

_"Perfect,"_ Chuck whispers. _"Let's finish this, babe. Queue up the five hundred. Straight bet."_

Sarah's heart starts beating faster. She takes a calming breath and stacks the chips tightly in front of her, ready to slide them all onto the layout.

Chuck flashes again as the croupier sends the ball on its way.

"Place your bets—place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," the dealer calls out.

The ball circles...Sarah's hands are on the chips...

Chuck leans forward. _"Seventeen—go for it!"_

Sarah slides the stacks smoothly across the green felt and deposits them dead center on the black 17 square. The bettors on each side of her gawk—then throw a few chips of their own down on the same square.

"No more bets!" cries the dealer.

The ball goes around once, twice more...slows, and drops into the 17 pocket, for a 35-to-one payout on the straight bets by Sarah and her two fortunate neighbors.

_"Yes!"_ shouts Sarah as Chuck grabs her from behind and lifts her up in victory. The other players around the table break out in applause.

_"I love you,"_ Chuck and Sarah whisper in each other's ear.

The dealer starts stacking brown roulette chips on the 17 square. Sarah stops him before he can finish.

"Thank you, but we'll cash out now. Quit while you're ahead, y'know?"

"Sure thing, madam," replies the dealer. He gives her seventeen thousand-dollar and two five-hundred-dollar casino chips. Sarah leaves both five-hundred-dollar chips on the table for a tip—earning appreciative salutes from the dealer and croupier—while Chuck rakes the thousand-dollar chips into a cup.

They step away from the table and hustle across the floor to the cashier cages, where they use their winnings to settle the company tab.

"Whew," sighs Chuck. "Now _that_ was an interesting experiment—and Morgan Grimes is fully redeemed."

Sarah slings her arms around his neck and pulls his face close to hers.

"And so is Chuck Bartowski," she murmurs. "That was very, very impressive. The epic fail of the past is redacted. _Now_ maybe we can go dancing."

They begin to kiss, and then—

"Excuse me." The voice is deep, gravelly, and very close. Sarah and Chuck break their embrace and instinctively position themselves back-to-back. They find themselves flanked by three brawny men wearing dark suits and earpieces.

"Casino security," one of the men says, holding out an ID. "Pardon the imposition, but our supervisor would like to speak with you both." He points to a row of darkened glass windows high on one wall.

"No, no, no, _no!"_ replies Chuck, sounding as indignant as he can. "My wife and I have plans for the rest of the evening. We're _done_ in here, I assure you."

The big man looks abashed. "Sir, I'm sorry, but if you don't come with us we do have the option to call the Las Vegas Metro Police. They'd be here before you got out of the building."

Chuck turns to look at Sarah, who shrugs her shoulders in resignation.

"Okay then, I guess," he says—and they follow the three security men through a door marked NO ADMITTANCE just to the side of the cashier cages. The men lead them along a short corridor and up a flight of stairs.

"Don't worry," Sarah says softly to Chuck as they climb the stairs. "This time I'm armed."

One floor up, they arrive at another door with a keycard lock. The lead security man swipes his ID and holds the door open for Sarah and Chuck to enter. The room is compact; full of active monitor screens and fronted by a wall of one-way glass that provides a view of the entire casino floor.

A trim man with close-cropped grey hair, in a rumpled jacket and loosened tie that speak of a overlong workday, rises from a desk and comes over to greet them. Chuck and Sarah hesitantly shake hands with him. Like the three men who brought them upstairs, this one is also wearing an earpiece.

"Mr. and Ms. Carmichael. My name is Steve Rosen. I direct casino security ops for our parent corporation. Thank you for joining me. Can I offer you anything to drink—something from the bar downstairs perhaps?"

"No thank you," Chuck curtly replies. Sarah says nothing but keeps her eyes on the three burly security men.

"No problem," says Rosen. "Please have a seat." His men slide two chairs over to the front of his desk, and then leave the room.

Chuck and Sarah reluctantly sit down, as Rosen returns to his chair. He reaches for a single monitor screen atop his desk and pivots it in their direction. Not unexpectedly, it is displaying a video recording of Chuck and Sarah at the roulette table a few minutes earlier.

Rosen puts his elbows on the desk and nods toward the screen. "I could probably watch this a hundred more times and still not figure out how you did it. I don't suppose either of you would care to save me the trouble."

"What can we say?" asks Chuck. "Lucky night."

"Mr. Carmichael, these days, major casinos like ours make use of statistical software that enables us to distinguish blind luck from artifice."

"You're bluffing, Mr. Rosen," Chuck fires back. "You wouldn't be able to tell because we weren't playing long enough. There weren't enough spins for a robust statistical analysis."

Rosen abruptly sits up and looks at Chuck and Sarah with greater respect and curiosity.

"You're right, of course. I _know_ you two pulled something—probably involving a computer hidden somewhere—but I have no way to confirm that. And I did find it interesting that you left the roulette table as soon as you had recouped your associate's earlier losses—a Mr. Grimes, I believe?—almost to the dollar. You walked away. Interesting..._and_ unusual."

"Truth is," says Sarah, "we're in town for business, not leisure. My husband and I never intended to play more than a few spins anyway. It was just good fortune that we came out a little bit ahead."

At that, Rosen throws his head back and laughs. "Good fortune indeed, Ms. Carmichael! And since you brought it up, what exactly _is_ your firm's line of work?"

"Cyber-security," Chuck quickly replies. He pulls out a C. I. business card and slides it across the desk to Rosen, who studies it for a moment, then laughs again.

"Nerds for hire, eh? Why am I not surprised? Okay, let me try a different tack. If I can't get you to reveal the _modus operandi_ that beat our roulette wheels...maybe I can contract for your services instead? Show us how to upgrade our defenses to better protect us against—well, against the next generation of tech-savvy scammers? No offense intended, of course."

Chuck and Sarah raise eyebrows at each other.

"None taken," says Chuck. "Is that a serious offer, Mr. Rosen?"

"Absolutely it is," the security chief replies, handing Chuck one of his own business cards. "And our parent firm operates gaming properties on four continents, so who knows where this could all lead."

"Well, we'll certainly consider it..." Chuck looks over at his wife, who nods in agreement.

"...but right now, we're already on a missh—"_ (Sarah pinches his thigh—hard!)_ "—on a _project_ here in town that'll take a few more days to wrap up."

"Just give me a call when you're ready."

All three rise from their chairs, and Rosen holds out his hand to Sarah and Chuck once again. This time, they shake it enthusiastically.

"Oh, and I'm going to comp your suite," he tells them, "for as long as you're staying with us at the La Plata Linda."

"That's _very_ generous of you, Mr. Rosen," Sarah says.

He winks at her. "Professional courtesy, Ms. Carmichael. I'm ex-Naval Intelligence—and I'm pretty sure that I see—how should I put it?—a pair of kindred spirits in the two of you. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Possibly," Sarah replies. She takes Chuck's hand in both of hers. "We were planning to go out dancing tonight. We're looking for some place that's fun and lively and a bit on the fancy side. Any recommendations?"

Rosen scrutinizes them for a second. "Do you two like to samba?"

"Have we done that?" Sarah asks Chuck.

"Yeah we did. Loved it."

"Perfect," says Rosen. He reaches for his phone. "The Brazilian television network _Rede Globo_ has a delegation in town for a business meeting. As we speak they are hosting a rather large and festive gala occupying all of the ballrooms on our fourth floor. I'll arrange VIP invitations for you both."

* * *

**Four hours later, in the honeymoon suite**

Chuck and Sarah return to their suite a little bit drunk, a little bit flushed and sweaty, with their attire a little bit askew and their arms around each other, laughing loudly and incessantly over the adventures of the evening.

"Can you _believe_ that, baby?" Chuck asks Sarah as he fumbles with his key card. "Both of us invited to Rio to audition for—what did they call that show again?"

_"Dança dos Famosos,"_ she replies in proper—if slightly slurred—Portuguese. "I think they were just being nice to us...but you _were_ really good, and no flashes required."

"Like I told them, I had the world's best dance instructor."

Chuck eventually gets the door open and bids Sarah enter. As he follows, she turns to ambush him in the doorway—grabbing his tie to pull herself against him for a long kiss.

"Okay, now you can take that tie off," Sarah tells him, and then heads for the bathroom. "Meet you over by the windows in _juuuust _a sec."

Outside, the final silver-and-gold fireworks display of the night is underway. On the inside of the thick, tinted windows of the honeymoon suite there is no sound, and the view of the blazing midair bursts and fountains is almost kaleidoscopic. Captivated by the sight, Chuck distractedly slips off his tie and jacket and undoes the top few buttons of his white dress shirt.

He settles down on the heart-shaped couch to wait for Sarah.

_(Music: "A Question and an Answer," by Tim Jones)_

"Baby?" he calls out to her.

"What is it, Chuck?" she asks from inside the bathroom.

"I was thinking—"

"Dangerous thing to do at this time of night."

"Ha—yeah maybe, but ever since we got to Vegas we've been at full throttle. We haven't had a second to spare, to talk about how you're doing, how you're adjusting—how you're _feeling_—you know?"

"How I'm feeling?" Sarah asks with a gentle laugh, suddenly very close behind him. "That's really sweet—as always."

Chuck turns his head in the direction of Sarah's voice, just as she flips herself smoothly over the back of the couch and lands outstretched in his lap. She wraps her arms around him, and he does the same to her. They begin to caress and kiss each other, oblivious to the fireworks still going off outside.

"Mmmm—feeling _very_ good," Sarah murmurs. She has on a white terrycloth robe, and as far as Chuck can determine, nothing underneath it. As they kiss, Sarah subtly works one hand in to finish unbuttoning Chuck's shirt. Then, in one swift motion, she slips her arms around his back and peels the shirt up and off him completely.

_"Too much, too soon?"_ she whispers in his ear.

"You're kidding, I hope." Chuck rises from the couch with Sarah in his arms, and carries her over to the honeymoon bed. As he gently sets her down, her robe slips open, and Chuck can see that she _is_ in fact wearing something else: her black leather holster full of throwing knives, strapped to her inner thigh.

"Oops. Forgot something," says Sarah, with an expression half innocent and half devilish.

Chuck bends closer and grins. "That's dangerous, babe. Somebody could get hurt."

"You're right. I think you're _just_ going to have to take that off for me...Uh-uh-_uhh! _Didn't say you could use your hands..."

* * *

**Some time after that...**

Sarah and Chuck lie on the bed together in full-length embrace, all but out of breath, their hearts drumming, her head on his chest, each gazing into the other's eyes.

Eventually, Sarah says, "Only my loving husband could possibly know me as well as _that."_

Chuck kisses her forehead. "I think you were recollecting some important wifely things yourself there. Just sayin'."

Sarah giggles and tightens her hold on him. They're both silent for a while, and then...

"You know," she tells Chuck, "this room, this bed, way up above the city like this—it's just like Paris again, isn't it?"

"You remember _Paris?"_

"Ohhh yes—I do. And that long, slow train ride afterward. That was so wonderful that we almost quit spying all together. Right? Huh_—tee hee!—_I'm suddenly remembering a lot of intimate details, aren't I?"

Chuck sits up excitedly. "And the night after you rescued me in Thailand? Or our actual honeymoon? Do you remember?"

Sarah scratches her forehead. "Hmm. No, I don't think I do. I guess I'm going to need more help with those."

"Well what are we waiting for?" asks Chuck.


	6. Chapter 5

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_, but I'm open to offers to write the screenplay for the movie. I'm totally kidding. No, wait.

* * *

**CHAPTER 5 **

**Fifth day, early morning, the La Plata Linda Hotel**

Ellie—trembling slightly and biting her lower lip—glances back at her mom for reassurance, then knocks firmly on the door to the honeymoon suite.

After a few seconds, they hear a faint cry of surprise from inside, and Sarah opens the door.

_"Ellie—Mary?_ We didn't expect—umm, uh—quick, you should come in..."

"H-hi," Sarah continues, after Ellie and Mary follow her inside. "Chuck didn't say you were actually coming here. Chuck's still in the shower. It's so early—umm—can I get you both some coffee or something...?"

Ellie pauses in the entranceway, taking in Sarah's appearance: casual in a powder-blue sweatsuit like the ones she used to wear at home, with her rings prominently back on her hand, and—beneath a little nervous unease at the unanticipated visit—a look of calm assurance in her eyes, worlds away from the confusion and fury Ellie last saw in them.

And…Sarah's _smiling_ at both of them—timidly, but smiling nonetheless...

Ellie's eyes begin to tear. "It _is_ really you, isn't it?" she softly asks.

Sarah nods—and Ellie leaps to embrace her. They hold on tightly, rocking side-to-side and crying into each other's shoulder, as Mary looks on with delight. Then in rushes Chuck, clad in one of the white bathrobes from the hotel.

"What's going on—_Sis! Mom?_ What are you two _doing_ here? I told you to overnight the package!"

Ellie and Sarah let go of each other, and Ellie turns to Chuck, sniffling and wiping her eyes with her fingers.

"And you really thought I'd do that?" she asks him. "Oh, Chuck, I had to come see my sister-in-law—I just _had_ to see her. You said you were together, so I...we...well anyway, we've been on the road since way before dawn—"

"I'm very glad you both came," says Sarah, red-eyed and sniffling too.

"But what about Devon and baby Clara?" Chuck asks.

"They're fine," says Mary. "They're in a secure and comfortable location across town."

"And you two got up here without being spotted? How'd you get access to the private elevator?"

"I'm _retired,_ dear," Mary gently scolds. "Not doddering."

Chuck throws up his hands. "Okay, okay, okay. Sarah's right—it _is_ nice to see you both."

Group hugs and kisses and a few more tears ensue; then Ellie takes a small corrugated cardboard box from her purse and hands it to Chuck.

"Here's what you wanted," she says. "I'm _so_ glad I decided not to pack it up with all my professional things, because by now that moving van must be almost to Texas."

"Thank you, Sis. Honey, a little help if you would?" Chuck holds the box out to Sarah, who—in the span of three seconds—produces a folding knife from her sweatsuit pocket, flips it open and deftly slices off the top of the box, then closes the knife and tucks it away again.

Chuck throws an air kiss at his wife, then reaches into the box and removes a disc-shaped electronic device, about the size of two stacked roulette chips, encased in an anti-static bag. He holds it up for everyone to see.

"The _Key_...Dad's last remaining invention. I just couldn't leave it behind on the roof at the concert hall. I thought maybe Ellie could figure out something worthwhile to do with it after she got her lab set up in Chicago."

"So why do you want it back now, Chuck?" his sister asks. Before he can respond, she adds, "I'm probably not going to like the answer, am I?"

"Let's talk about it, Sis. Now that you're here I'll be glad to have your help. I'll have coffee and breakfast brought in, and we'll text Morgan and Alex to come up and join us."

Chuck steps away to call room service and go get dressed, while Sarah leads Ellie over to the dining area. Mary follows them, looking around the place with great amusement.

"So—you two are staying in the honeymoon suite," she observes. "Was that intentional?"

"More or less," replies Sarah with a wink.

* * *

**About an hour later**

"I was right," Ellie says. "I _don't _like this."

Team Carmichael, plus two, lingers in the dinette after breakfast, finishing off their coffees, as Chuck explains his plan to his extremely skeptical neurologist sister.

"It'll work," Chuck insists, as he gently holds the Key in its bag between his thumb and forefinger. "I can use the Intersect to restore Deep Skillet. But I need the Key to translate. It's the only input-output device of its kind, which means the malware won't recognize it for what it is, and I'll be in, easy-peasy."

"But that means linking your brain to computers infected with who-knows-what," Ellie fires back.

"It's not like I'll be _wired_ to 'em, Sis—it's just an optical link I can break at any instant. And I'll actually be in there only a second—probably less. I just need for the Intersect to isolate the specific chunk of code that turns the malware off."

Ellie shakes her head and looks hopefully at Sarah. "What do _you_ think about it, Sarah? I mean...with what you just went through...?"

Sarah takes hold of her husband's arm atop the table. "We talked about it. We _have_ to finish this job for the sake of our firm's reputation. I believe Chuck if he says he can do this—and I'll be right there watching over him, just in case."

"The Intersect's different with Chuck," says Morgan. He takes hold of Chuck's other arm, but Chuck gives him a funny look and yanks it away. "You know that, Ellie. He always figures out how to fix things with it. I mean, just last night he sure fixed _my_ screwup down there in the casino."

Ellie knows she's losing the argument, but she has one more card to play.

"Well, what about the fact that you want to take Dad's one and only Key into harm's way? Sounds pretty risky to me."

"Got a plan for that too, Sis. Actually it's Sarah's idea. And, Morgan, it starts with you going out and picking up three new iPhones. I need three, all identical. Pay with cash. And please make sure nobody follows you closely enough to find out what you're buying."

Chuck reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bulky roll of bills. Morgan takes them and gives his friend a mock salute.

"By your command, boss. Vegas Buy More, here I come!"

"And don't forget to bring back the receipt," Chuck adds.

"I'm coming with," says Alex. "He can always use another good pair of eyes."

Mary looks at Ellie and Sarah, then gets up. "Me too. I'd like to get a little midmorning sun."

Chuck holds the Key up to the light. "Meanwhile, my task is to figure out how this little puppy is put together, in case I should need to build another one. Can't be too difficult—I _am_ a Bartowski after all."

Morgan fetches the keys to the Ford Expedition, and Alex and Mary follow him out to the elevator. Sarah and Ellie clear away the breakfast dishes as Chuck brings over several of the C. I. equipment cases, and starts converting the dining table into a makeshift workbench for his reverse engineering of the Key.

Ellie puts a hand on Sarah's shoulder and says, "He doesn't need any distractions, so why don't we go sit and catch up for a while?"

"That works for me," replies Sarah. She refills their coffee mugs as Ellie slides two chairs together in front of the panoramic windows.

"Wow—this is really spectacular!" Ellie soaks up the view of the city, the serrated mountains surrounding it, and the cloudless blue curve of the desert sky.

"Isn't it? Chuck and I find ourselves drawn over here most of the time we're in the suite."

Ellie smiles, having noticed that the big luxurious bed also faces the windows. Then she puts down her coffee mug and puts on a more serious expression.

"Sarah," she begins, "can I talk with you as a doctor rather than a sister for a few minutes?"

"Of course. I figured you had something like that in mind."

"Mostly I just wanted to know how you are doing, and what's happened since last week."

"I'm not completely sure," replies Sarah. "When I last saw you, down in Castle, by that time I _knew_ who I was, who I'd been—but I couldn't accept it, because I just couldn't _feel_ it. All I felt was this burning anger toward Quinn."

"That's understandable," Ellie says.

"And when the first few memories of my life with Chuck were returning...well, that only confused me more, because I couldn't remember any context. It just seemed like they'd been planted in my mind..."

Sarah shakes her head and winces at the recollection. "And poor Chuck was right there with me that entire time, trying to help me—you _all_ were trying—but I couldn't—"

"It's okay, Sarah," Ellie reassures her. "It was a terrible trauma. You simply weren't _you._ But then...what was it that brought you back?"

"I think after we defeated Quinn, and the team split up, all the anger just drained out of me, like adrenaline. All that was left was the confusion. And _that's _when Chuck got through to me…."

Sarah's eyes brighten, and her voice grows more excited.

"He found me. He asked me to trust him, and I finally had the courage to let him tell me about us...our story. And then it was like a wall coming down inside, Ellie. All of a sudden I _felt_ Chuck's love for me—and _mine_ for him. So I asked him to take me back, and..."

"Take you _back!"_ Ellie snorts, then reaches over to hug Sarah. "Chuck would do better without oxygen than without you!"

"He's _never_ going to have to worry about that again," Sarah says firmly. "We're going to rebuild our life together. Just as it was."

Ellie clasps her hands together happily. "And...your memories of that life?"

"Definitely improving, but there are still plenty of gaps."

"There's no quick fix for dissociative amnesia," replies Ellie. "But the good news is, based on what we learned from Morgan's bout with the buggy Intersect, there's probably no residual injury to your brain. You just need time and plenty of positive emotional support. The more intensely emotional the trigger, the better it'll probably be at stimulating recall."

"We've noticed that," Sarah says, smiling serenely.

Ellie chuckles. "On the other hand, I wouldn't have recommended that you two head right out on another mission like you did."

"That was _my_ choice. Chuck didn't push me into this. And actually, the job has been mostly fun so far—almost a working honeymoon, like Mary thought."

"That's fine, then, I suppose. But Sarah, I can't say when—or _if_— you'll get all of your memories back. You're doing really well and hopefully that'll continue. It's quite possible that you won't ever remember the worst of the trauma that you went through. Probably for the best."

Sarah nods in understanding, and asks, "The prognosis is pretty good, though?"

"Well," Ellie replies, "I'm reminded of this one psych professor I had in med school. He was fond of a particular quote and recited it all the time. As I recall, it went something like this: _'The self isn't something one finds—it is something one creates.'_ "

"I like that, Ellie. And I want to thank you for everything you did to look after Chuck and to help me when I...well, as you put it, when I wasn't myself—"

"Sarah, hush, you're family! One thing you _do_ have to promise me, though. Come to Chicago after you finish this job. Just for a few routine tests. I'd like to be able to give you a clean bill of health once and for all. And if that's not enough of a reason, there's always deep-dish pizza!"

"You've got yourself a deal," says Sarah, beaming at Ellie.

* * *

**A short time later, across town**

As Chuck had feared might happen, Morgan, Alex, and Mary in the pale-grey Ford Expedition picked up a tail right out of the hotel driveway: a white sedan. Morgan first tried to lose it in the traffic lights on the Strip, and then tried to outrun it on the freeway west out of downtown—all to no avail.

"It _just_ keeps catching up," groans Alex, vainly straining to glimpse the driver of the sedan as it maddeningly keeps pace in the traffic, always two or three cars behind them. "Are you sure we're not bugged?"

"I swept the whole vehicle," Morgan replies. "Twice. We're clean."

"The CIA could be guiding them with a drone or even a satellite," Mary calmly observes.

"Should we abort then?" asks Alex.

"Can't do that," Morgan replies. "Chuck's depending on us."

"We'll just have to lose them in the mall," Mary says.

About a quarter hour's drive from the Strip, Morgan pulls the Expedition off the freeway at the entrance to the sprawling suburban Best Western Mall. The white sedan follows them into the parking lot. A Buy More store anchors the south end of the mall and a Large Mart sits at the opposite end. A prominent archway entrance at the center of the complex is festooned with the colorful logos of various fast-food chains.

"There—we'll go in at the food court," Mary instructs. "Park as close as you can, Morgan."

"You got it, Mama B." As Morgan heads down a lane leading toward the middle of the mall, Alex keeps watch on their tail in the rear-view mirror. Morgan spots an open parking space close to the entrance and quickly pulls in. The white sedan, just entering their lane at the far end, slows almost to a stop.

"That means they don't know if they've been made," says Mary. "That's good. Let's all go inside as if nothing's amiss, and hopefully get a closer look at whoever's been following us."

As the three of them exit the SUV and start walking along the lane toward the mall, the white sedan picks up a little speed and draws closer to them. Alex suddenly pauses and bends down as if to tighten her shoelaces, glancing at the oncoming sedan as she does.

_"There's just the driver," _she reports, just above a whisper. _"Female. Short brown hair."_

"Good," says Mary. They reach the mall entrance and pass through the tinted glass doors, then turn around to see the white sedan pull into a space nearby. The brunette agent emerges and hustles toward the doors. Morgan, Alex, and Mary continue on into the food court, which is humming with the late-morning breakfast crowd.

"She looks agile," Mary says. "I don't think we'll outrun her in here without tipping our hand. We need some kind of diversion."

"Time for the _magnet?"_ asks Morgan. He tugs on the brown-and-white windbreaker he's wearing. "Now I'm really glad I thought to change clothes before we left."

"Who wants espresso?" Alex asks, and leads her teammates to the coffee bar. They buy coffees and sit down around a table close to the men's and women's restrooms. Mary keeps a practiced spy eye on the brunette agent as she takes an empty table toward the center of the food court: discreetly distant, but with a clear view of her marks. The agent brings out a smartphone and pretends to look busy with it.

Morgan and Alex, sipping coffee, chattering and gesturing for show, have their eyes trained on the men's restroom. They're waiting for something—and they don't have to wait very long. A man with black hair and a close-cropped beard, reasonably similar to Morgan in size and build, approaches them from the Buy More side of the mall and enters the men's restroom. The brunette agent, focused on her three targets, doesn't see it—although she definitely notices when Morgan leaves the table a moment later and heads into the men's room himself.

Inside the restroom, Morgan spots his almost-double washing his hands and face at a sink. He gives the man a casual nod before locking himself in one of the stalls and unzipping his windbreaker. Beneath it, Morgan is wearing one of his kelly green Buy More work shirts.

Meanwhile, Alex and Mary drain the last of their coffees and walk over to the men's room door, where they stand looking as if they are impatient for Morgan to reappear. The brunette agent continues to dawdle with her smartphone while watching Alex and Mary out of the corner of her eye.

Without warning, the almost-Morgan—the _magnet_—emerges from the restroom and starts toward the Large Mart end of the mall. Alex and Mary fall in with him as if he's the real Morgan; Alex pulls up alongside him and Mary follows a half-step behind them both, so that the brunette agent can't get a good look at the man.

The agent pockets her phone and starts in pursuit.

The magnet, oblivious at first, eventually notices that there happens to be a strange but very attractive young woman walking right by his side as he makes his way through the mall crowd.

"Hi," he says to her. Alex smiles shyly at him but says nothing. The magnet begins to walk a little bit faster, and Alex also picks up her pace to stay with him.

"Do I know you?" the magnet asks, now looking baffled but somewhat pleased by this unknown pretty lady's apparent interest in him.

"Nope," replies Alex, still smiling.

"Okay. Well, you have a good day." He speeds up again...and so does Alex.

Directly behind him, Mary senses that the magnet is getting spooked and could duck into a store or another restroom at any moment. She checks a reflection in the window of a sporting-goods store to confirm that the brunette agent is still following them, as they all get farther and farther from the Buy More. Mary reaches into her purse, finds her iPhone, and taps on the screen, sending Morgan a single-word text: _GO._

Morgan, in his green shirt with the brown-and-white windbreaker clutched in his fist, darts out of the men's room, across the food court, and back out to the parking lot. He slows to a brisk walking pace and continues around the perimeter of the mall to the Buy More, then around the back to the loading dock. There, a cluster of employees in the same green shirts is lackadaisically off-loading a shipment of big boxed appliances from a truck. None of them gives Morgan any notice as he enters the back of the store and makes his way to the employees' lounge.

He begins to put the windbreaker back on, intending to sneak out to the sales floor in the guise of an ordinary customer.

_"Morgan?_ Morgan Grimes, is that _you?"_

Morgan whirls around and finds himself face-to-face with a familiar figure from Burbank: chubby, rosy-cheeked, with oval wire-rims and curly dark hair. But instead of the usual green Buy More shirt, he's wearing a tie and a grey vest over a pale yellow dress shirt.

_"Fernando?"_

"Did you apply for a job here too? Hey! Look at _this,_ man!_"_ Fernando points proudly to the badge on his vest: ASSISTANT MANAGER.

"Hey, wow!" exclaims Morgan, still a bit stunned. "So you're Ass-Man here now, Fernando? No, I'm not here for a job...I'm just...so why'd you come to Vegas?"

Fernando shrugs. "Why not? New owners in Burbank and you guys all left. Didn't think it would be fun there any more. I heard there was an opening here, so I faxed in an application—and _here I am!"_

Morgan enthusiastically shakes his former associate's hand. "That's really _great,_ man! I'm happy for you. But what about your sidekick Skip?"

"He'll be here by tomorrow. I just hired him for the Herd."

Then Fernando drops Morgan's hand and looks at him suspiciously. "So what are you doing here and in that green shirt? I thought you quit the Buy Morons for real."

Morgan puts his arm around Fernando's shoulder. "It's a long story and I don't have much time to explain. I'm just passing through town. I've gotta buy some iPhones and...well, I thought maybe with this shirt I could still get the employee discount."

He looks down at the floor in feigned embarrassment. Fernando laughs.

"No problem! C'mon, I'll help you myself," he says. "And sure, I'll give you the discount. Least I can do for my old boss."

"Hey, thanks, man," replies Morgan, sounding relieved, as he finishes putting on the windbreaker and follows Fernando to the Nerd Herd counter. "And one more big favor—don't let _anyone_ know I was here. The phones are supposed to be a surprise..."

...Ten minutes later, with the three iPhones secured in a Buy More shopping bag, Morgan slips back out through the loading dock just as Alex and Mary pull up in the Expedition. Morgan jumps into the passenger seat and fist-bumps his girlfriend as she steers them back to the freeway.

"Way to _go _Team Carmichael!" he shouts. "What happened to our tail?"

"I think she's still wandering around the Large Mart," Mary answers with eyes twinkling.

"Yeah," adds Alex. "Would you believe the magnet walked with me _all the way there?_ He even asked me out and I got his number. I mean—he _was_ really cute, with that beard and all..."

She allows Morgan a full five seconds to blubber before she adds, "I'm _so_ kidding."

* * *

**Twenty minutes later, in the honeymoon suite at the La Plata Linda**

_(Music: "Modern Man," by Arcade Fire)_

With his whole team looking on, Chuck lays the three new iPhones out on his dinette-table workbench, amidst scattered tools and parts and an open laptop that is scrolling through seemingly endless lines of code and strange sequences of images.

"Perfect," he says. "Now...eenie...meanie...miney..._mo!"_

He picks up one of the phones, turns it over, and removes the back cover with a small pentalobe screwdriver.

"Hmmm...let's see," he continues, inspecting the components inside. "Gotta reconfigure the Key to squeeze it in here...take the camera out to make some room...maybe a smaller battery...I can make it work."

"Clever," says Ellie, looking over his shoulder. "I was wondering what you were going to use for an interface, since your last pair of Intersect glasses got fried by your upload."

"Just as well," Chuck replies. "We try to sneak a pair of VR glasses past Saldana and the jig'll definitely be up. But she won't look twice at a phone since she knows we can't call in or out of Deep Skillet. And I know this will work, because Mom once used a smartphone on me to suppress the Intersect."

Mary, sitting at the table on his right side, sighs.

"And you're _never _going to let me forget that, are you, dear?"

Chuck turns and gives his mother a peck on the cheek. "Well, Mom, if you _hadn't_ done it, maybe I wouldn't have come up with this crazy idea...so thank you for that."

Ellie takes a seat on the other side of the table and turns the laptop around to face her.

"While you're working on the hardware," she says, focusing on the screen, "let me have a look at your software. These neural encoding paths look just a bit laborious, kind of like Dad's original programming. There's a way to make them run a _lot_ smoother and faster and save you a big headache—maybe literally!"

She puts her fingers to the keyboard and starts right in, as Chuck laughs.

"Like I said before, Sis—glad to have your help!"

* * *

**An hour and a half later**

The iPhones have all been retrofitted and Ellie has finished her upgrade of the Intersect software. Chuck, still seated at the table, connects one of the iPhones to his laptop, places the phone down in front of him with the screen up, and leans back in his chair.

Sarah, standing behind him, puts her hands on his shoulders and gives him a squeeze.

"So are you ready to test it?" she asks him.

"Guess so. What do you think, Ellie?"

"I_ still_ think this whole plan is absolutely nuts. But yes, the system's ready."

"Let's do it then. But baby, I don't think you should be standing so close."

Sarah, Morgan, Alex, and Mary move to the far side of the dinette table. Chuck cracks his knuckles and looks down at his iPhone.

"I'm going to hack into the hotel ops intranet and upload the status report on building functions," he tells them. "That's a block of data about the same size as what I'll need to handle in Deep Skillet. And I've already hacked in via the conventional route, so I know what I'll find—except that the Intersect, working through the Key, should make this happen a _whole lot_ faster."

He picks up the iPhone, flashes on it, and starts thumbing out a text at uncanny speed.

"Jeez—wonder what's the record for text messaging," Morgan mutters.

"5.2 characters a second," Chuck replies while continuing to text. "I'm doin' near eight right now."

Sarah elbows Morgan. _"Shhh!"_ she whispers. _"Don't distract him!"_

Chuck abruptly stops texting, and receives his response in the form of a rapid barrage of encoded images flashing across the iPhone screen. He gazes at the screen and takes in the information as the others watch with fascination—except Sarah, who grimaces and averts her eyes. Morgan is the only one who notices.

The iPhone screen goes dark. Chuck blinks, flashes again—then stands up, shakily, but grinning.

"It worked! Guys, it _worked!_ The Key slipped me right through the firewall like there wasn't one there! I just interrogated the hotel ops computer and uploaded _all_ the building vitals. Like, for example...the thermostat in this suite is currently at 73 degrees."

Morgan locates the climate-control panel on the wall and goes over to check it. "Right you are, buddy. Of course, that could have been just a good guess."

"Then how about _this?"_ asks Chuck. "The Brazilian TV contingent is just now checking out and headed to the airport. Three big, blue luxury buses should be pulling into the hotel driveway right...about..._now."_

Mary and Alex, standing close by the windows, look down.

"Yes—I see them!" says Alex.

"I could even tell you their license plate numbers," Chuck adds with assurance.

"Now you're just showin' off," Morgan retorts.

Ellie is wide-eyed. "It really _worked_—you just read and learned something directly from a computer at machine speed! Chuck—oh my God—you _did it!"_

_"We_ did it, Sis—Dad, you, _and_ me," Chuck corrects her. "We're on the trail Dad blazed, to turn the Intersect from a weapon back into a tool for teaching and learning. But there's a long way to go yet. One mission at a time."

Mary comes over to Chuck and hugs him. "This might just have changed your father's mind about wanting to destroy his invention."

_"I_ wanted to destroy it too," Chuck says. "All I could think of was the misery that the Intersect has caused our family. But then again, some very _good_ things also came of it."

He smiles at Sarah, who is still standing where she was on the other side of the table. She smiles back at him, but wanly—unmistakably troubled by something. Chuck goes to her and tenderly puts his arm around her.

_"It's okay,"_ she whispers in his ear. _"Talk when we're alone."_

"Maybe the solution all along wasn't to _destroy_ the Intersect," Ellie observes. "Maybe we just need to _domesticate_ it. Chuck—whatever you do in that Skillet place, wherever it is—don't you _dare_ lose control of the Key!"

"Yes," says Mary. "The future of the Intersect must remain the charge of _our_ family."

"I think we're _all_ in agreement on that," Chuck says.

"So what now?" asks Morgan.

"Carmichael Industries has a job to complete. Morgan and Alex—the drill's the same as the other night: get some rest, meet for dinner, ready to roll. Ellie, Mom—we truly appreciate your help. You'll both be getting a stipend for consulting after we wrap this up."

Ellie laughs out loud. Chuck pretends to look hurt.

"I'm _serious,_ Sis! Business is business. But family's also family, and so now I'm asking you and Mom to go pick up Devon and Clara from wherever you've hidden them, and get back on the road. Promise me you'll do that? This isn't a spy mission, but why take chances?"

Ellie hugs her brother. "You're aces, Charles. Please be careful."

_"That_ didn't sound like a promise to me," Chuck groans.

* * *

**Half an hour later**

Chuck and Sarah are alone at last and back on their favorite heart-shaped couch.

"So...what happened when I was doing the upload?" he asks her gently. "I saw you were upset, and Morgan confirmed it."

Sarah sighs. "Another memory. Really vague—but I remembered pain. It's over now."

Chuck holds her and kisses her forehead. "Are you going to be all right tonight, babe? It'll be just the two of us down there."

Sarah looks deeply into his eyes. "Absolutely. I'm going to be fine, Chuck. Better than fine. I will never let you down, and I'll never let anyone or anything hurt you."

"I know that," Chuck says fervently. "But still, I can't stand even the thought of causing you any pain." He begins to kiss the back of her neck and shoulders.

"Is there anything _(kiss) _I can do _(kiss)_ to make you feel _(kiss)_ any better...?"

_"Mmmm..._I think you're on the right track," Sarah murmurs.

* * *

**That evening, on the La Plata Linda roof**

Special Agent Saldana greets Chuck and Sarah with handshakes as they step out of the elevator in their business attire and carrying their briefcases. Behind her, the Bureau of Reclamation helicopter awaits. Seeing that his passengers have arrived, the pilot starts the engine.

_"We are all rebuilt and ready for you!"_ Saldana shouts over the mounting roar. "_And you for us—I hope!"_

Chuck gives her a thumbs-up. He takes a step toward the helicopter, but Sarah suddenly grabs his arm and, with a look of disgust on her face, aggressively brushes at his back.

_"What is it, babe?"_

_"Sorry!"_ Sarah yells. "_Beetle landed on you! I don't know—for some reason lately insects are really creeping me out!"_

Saldana, with her back turned to Chuck and Sarah but close enough to hear them, frowns darkly.


	7. Chapter 6

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_, of course, but I'm enjoying the opportunity to tinker with his and Sarah's future a bit.

* * *

**CHAPTER 6 **

**Fifth day, late night, down below Hoover Dam and on into Deep Skillet**

Exactly as she did before, Agent Saldana escorts Chuck and Sarah to the secret elevator hidden in the Hoover Dam powerhouse, then down to the abandoned tunnel and on through the noisy watertight doors. The Bartowskis walk together through the tunnel a pace or two behind their client: carefully scanning their surroundings, but demurely holding hands.

"You look a teeny bit tired, sweetie," Sarah murmurs in her husband's ear. "What, not enough nap before dinner?"

"Well...you didn't really give me a whole lot of time to actually _nap,"_ Chuck replies. "But I'm fine—better than fine, actually."

_"That's_ for sure." Sarah squeezes his hand tighter.

At the entrance to Deep Skillet, the familiar guard again meticulously checks their identification, issues them their visitor's badges, and allows them access to the main cyberdefense lab.

Once inside, Chuck and Sarah find that Saldana and her technicians have been busy. The BIOS chips disabled by the malware have all been extracted and sealed in bags. All of the dysfunctional monitors, keyboards, mice, and external drives have been replaced by clean, gleaming new equivalents, set in their proper places but powered down and disconnected from the infected central processing units. The cartons in which the peripherals were shipped have been neatly flattened and stacked against the wall.

Chuck strides cheerfully into the middle of the vast lab, looks around, and inhales deeply.

"_Ahhhh!_ I just _love_ that new-secret-base smell!"

The four young technicians, sitting wearily in their wrinkled and dingy white lab coats around the central conference table, amidst dozens of empty coffee cups and scattered _Subway®_ sandwich wrappers, respond with weak laughs and nods.

"And I take it you've installed clean BIOS firmware in all of the devices?" Chuck asks them.

"Yes, sir," replies one of the techs.

"You poor things are exhausted," says Sarah. "Juanita should let you go home and rest."

"In due time," Saldana counters. "Chuck might yet need some assistance from us in implementing his recovery operation."

"Actually," Chuck says, "I think we've got things pretty much in hand. But thanks anyway."

"What is your plan?" asks Saldana.

"I'll need physical access into the central processor," Chuck replies. "I'm counting on that two-second delay we saw between any input and the scrambling of BIOS and peripherals. Remember that? The delay was probably programmed in by the saboteur so as to be able to shut off the malware with a specific code fragment."

Chuck places his briefcase on the conference table and opens it, revealing a set of custom-built electronic devices.

"So...I'm going to split the input and output signals, and run the output through a converter and time-stretch processor—to lengthen that built-in delay just enough to sneak in a diagnostic program that'll identify and activate the kill code receptor." He closes the briefcase again.

"Really?" Saldana asks after a moment's consideration. "So you intend to apply a hardware-based fix to a software problem. Unorthodox, to say the least. Then again, the unorthodox has always been the standard for your team, no?"

"If you're aware of _that,_ Juanita," says Sarah, "then you also know that our team's record speaks for itself."

"_Sí._ But such a pity that _you,_ as well as I, would know this only from reviewing your mission logs. It must be very difficult for—"

"That's _enough,_" Chuck growls.

Saldana goes silent, but flashes her familiar self-satisfied grin at them both.

"Whatever," Sarah replies—calmly and coolly, in spite of tightened fists and a sudden storminess in her eyes.

"While Chuck is setting up," she continues after a moment, "I'll complete the intel report on the malware attack per our agreed-upon scope of work. No doubt you will find it _very_ interesting reading..._Juanita."_

"Oh—no doubt," Saldana mimics, paying no heed to Sarah's quiet fury. "In the meantime, I can do nothing more exciting than to file paperwork for all of this lovely and costly new equipment. Please have one of my techs summon me when you are ready to begin your...ah..._experiment_."

"H'yeah, sure," mutters Chuck in an irritated tone. "But it'll be four, maybe five hours."

"All right. Just be mindful of the time and remember about sunup." Saldana turns to her technicians. "Provide any assistance that Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael require." Then she strides away, weaving around workstations and cubicles and out through a side door.

As soon as Saldana is gone from the room, Sarah and Chuck turn toward each other with equally concerned looks.

_"Don't let her get to you,"_ Chuck whispers to his wife.

_"I won't,"_ Sarah responds, _"and I was just about to say the same thing to you."_

That makes them both chuckle. Their anger at Saldana abruptly dissipated, they share a quick kiss and get to work. Sarah returns to the lone uninfected and functioning computer that she has been using for her forensic intel. Chuck follows right behind, carrying the two briefcases full of equipment over to the master system console, just a few steps from where Sarah is working.

"Excuse me," he calls out to the technicians as he begins to unpack tools and components. "Would one of you mind finding that satellite channel we were listening to last time?"

_(Music: "Watch Us Work It [Teddybears Mix]," by Devo)_

Chuck bends down to look at the processors and power supply for the master console, arranged on the floor directly beneath a bench that supports a semicircular bank of four monitor screens and two keyboards.

"Hmm, this is gonna be _real_ fun," he says, as he lowers himself to the floor and wedges his six-foot-four frame into the tight space under the bench with a few grunts and groans.

"Okay then—let's see...power supply, power supply..." Chuck says, in case anyone can hear him over the pulsing music. But out of sight underneath the bench, the first thing he actually does is surreptitiously connect a high-speed data cable—not a power cable—to the central processing units.

Meanwhile, Sarah works steadily at her final intel report, typing concise blocks of text and pasting in a myriad of images, tables, and links.

Concealed in an adjacent room, Saldana joins the mysterious wheelchair-bound Professor in front of a large flatscreen, to spy on Chuck and Sarah. Their view is from above, somewhere near the high suspended ceiling of the lab. The screen is split between one camera aimed at Chuck and one at Sarah. Saldana has her iPad on her lap, and occasionally taps it to change the viewing angle, or zoom in and out.

"It's difficult to see exactly what he's doing," notes the Professor, pointing at the image of Chuck's legs sticking awkwardly out from beneath the master console. "Can't you fly in any closer than this?"

"Sorry, sir. It would be too risky with Sarah right there. I have reason to suspect she has somehow retained a trace memory of her prior encounter with our Noctuidors."

The Professor shakes his head. "Now isn't that ironic."

_"De verdad. _So we must keep the devices out of her field of view. At least for now."

* * *

**At about the same time, just west of Hoover Dam**

The Ford Expedition idles at a drive-through convenience store on the edge of Boulder City, about three miles from the dam. The tracking device on the dashboard indicates that Chuck and Sarah have again disappeared into Deep Skillet—just as expected and right on schedule.

Morgan and Alex know that they have another long night's stakeout ahead of them.

"So...coffee and donuts again?" Morgan asks his girlfriend.

"Sounds good to me," replies Alex.

What neither of them knows is that they have been carrying a stowaway since they left the La Plata Linda: a silent figure in a black UNLV hoodie and facemask, hiding huddled under a blanket in the far back of the SUV, well-concealed by the night.

A friendly young server in the window hands them a carafe of coffee, two cups, and a box of donuts. Morgan pays him and then drives the Expedition back to their post: an unlit highway pullout on an upslope a mile from the dam and overlooking Lake Mead. The desert night is warm, starry, and fragrant with the first blooms of spring wildflowers and creosote bush. At first, Alex and Morgan roll down all the front and back windows to take in the fresh air, but they eventually give in to the temptation to turn up the volume on the tracking device, clamber out of the vehicle with their snacks, and sit on the front bumper.

This gives their passenger the ideal opportunity to slip stealthily out of the back window, sneak away into the brush, and circle back to the highway at some distance from the pullout. The stowaway walks briskly along the shoulder, downhill toward Hoover Dam.

* * *

**Sixth day, wee hours, in Deep Skillet**

_(Music continues: "Watch Us Work It [Teddybears Mix]," by Devo)_

Chuck needs the full five hours to finish his installation. He connects the monitors and keyboards for the master console to his improvised set of signal-modifying devices, and from there into the appropriate ports on the processing units. Then the computers are powered up and so are the peripherals—protected for the moment from infection by a cutoff switch on Chuck's contraption. Power and data cables run haphazardly across the bench and down into the space below it.

Chuck steps back from the master console to survey his handiwork, and allows himself the faintest smile of amusement at its intentional, magnificent overcomplexity. His stage is set.

He joins Sarah just as she presses the return key to transmit her completed intel report to a secure server, for Saldana to download later. Chuck leans over and gently sets his head on her shoulder.

_"D'you tell her everything you found out?"_ he whispers.

_"Didn't leave out thing one,"_ replies Sarah. _"Of course, who knows when she'll get around to reading it? Wherever she might be hiding at the moment, I'm sure she's been fully occupied watching you and scratching her head."_

Chuck grins, stands up, and in a normal tone of voice says, "I really think they should've code-named this place 'Vacuum Tube' instead of Deep Skillet."

Sarah rises from her chair, yawns, and stretches. "Why do you say that?"

"_Vacuum Tube._ Get it…Hoover? Tunnel?" Chuck punctuates this with a playful shoulder-bump.

"Now, sweetie, that's just silly," Sarah responds, while bumping him back a bit more emphatically. "Top-secret government facilities aren't _supposed_ to have code names that actually _mean_ anything!"

_("Those two are both so irreverent," comments Saldana in her hiding place—as if jesting on the job is a curious new experience for her.)_

Chuck curls his right arm affectionately around Sarah's back—and with two fingers of his right hand, subtly taps out a countdown in Morse code on her forearm: _four...three...two...one...zero...zero..._

_Bzzzzap! _— a quick flash of light from somewhere beneath the master console bench, followed by a puff of blue-grey smoke and a loud hum. The music in the room cuts off, replaced by a chirping alarm.

Chuck and Sarah pretend to look aghast.

"What the _hell _was that?" she asks. Chuck wheels around and dives for the master console. He flips off the power switch and the hum stops. He peers nervously under the bench.

Meanwhile, the four white-suited technicians have burst from their seats and are running toward the scene with fire extinguishers in hand. Saldana reappears in the side doorway.

_"Ay Dios mío_—what the _hell_ just happened?" she asks.

"It's okay!" Chuck calls out. "You can kill the alarm. It's just a small electrical problem—a minor overload or short. I can take care of it. Nothing serious!"

He gestures to the technicians, who are standing in a confused cluster nearby, still clutching their extinguishers.

"If you guys _really _want to be useful," Chuck tells them, "you can go around and start hooking up the rest of the peripherals. I'll need a little time to clean up here, but then we'll be about ready for the main event."

The techs fan out around the lab. One of them shuts off the alarm, and the loud music resumes. Saldana rolls her eyes and disappears back through the doorway.

"So let's see what the problem is," Chuck says. "And, Sarah—I could use your help. Would you please get the multimeter out of the case for me?"

Sarah goes over to the master console, a bit hesitantly. She fetches the multimeter: a khaki-green plastic device about the size and shape of a hand-held calculator, with a digital display and keypad on the front, and red and black wires extending out of it. Chuck is already on his back under the bench.

He looks up at Sarah as she bends toward him, and blows her a kiss. "Thanks, baby. Just hold the meter steady under the bench for me, so I can have both hands free to check the circuits. But be sure and keep your head above the bench, just in case there's another short." He winks at her.

"Chuck..._please_ be careful." Sarah's worried expression isn't faked this time. She reaches beneath the bench and holds the multimeter in place a few inches above his head. Chuck squeezes her wrist to reassure her. Then she turns her face up and away, for safety—but slides her ankle over against his outstretched leg, and hooks her foot underneath it so she can still hold on to him.

Chuck fishes in his shirt pocket for a small pair of wire cutters, and deftly snips away the short length of charred cable he had deliberately wired to cause a short-circuit. He clips the red and black leads from the multimeter to the cut ends, as if testing the current.

Then he quickly looks from side to side—to make sure that nobody other than Sarah is standing nearby—reaches up, and pops the front panel off the multimeter. His modified iPhone is concealed inside. Chuck reaches for the high-speed data cable he had installed first thing, and plugs it into the iPhone. Then he takes a deep breath—and flashes.

Chuck's thumbs pulse against the virtual keypad on the screen of his phone as he probes directly into the infected Deep Skillet computer system by means of the Key. Instantly afterward, his pupils dilate and fix on the screen as he gets his response from the system in the form of a four-second flurry of encoded images. The Intersect in his brain uploads the data. Then the iPhone screen goes blank, and Chuck lies there, dazed, for a few seconds.

_"Chuck! Are you all right?"_ whispers Sarah, while nudging his leg with her foot.

_"Huh? Oh yeah—yeah!"_ Chuck's entire body shivers, and he is back to full consciousness. He quickly disconnects the iPhone, snaps the front panel back on the multimeter, unclips the red and black wires, then gently takes the multimeter from Sarah's hand and slides out with it from beneath the bench.

"Everything's...repaired?" she asks him.

"And _then_ some," Chuck replies excitedly. "We are _so_ good to go."

Sarah looks at him with pride—and considerable relief.

As he places the multimeter back in the briefcase, Chuck detaches the red and black wires, removes what looks like a disk-shaped alkaline battery from a slot in the back of the device, and inserts a different battery. He looks around and confirms that the technicians have nearly finished plugging in all of the new monitors and keyboards.

"You can go call your boss," Chuck tells them.

He takes a thumb drive from his pocket and puts it down on the bench in front of the master console. A moment later, as Saldana returns to the lab, Chuck makes sure that she notices him paying elaborate attention to his signal-modifying setup: he switches the devices off and on again several times, and pretends to meticulously inspect all of the cables and their connections.

Bending down close enough to the apparatus to conceal his face, Chuck flashes. Then he straightens up and nods to Sarah. She pulls a chair out for him, and he sits down in front of the master console. Sarah takes a seat on his left side, and Saldana stations herself on the right with her arms folded, precisely observing Chuck's every move.

"Everybody ready?" Chuck asks—but without waiting for a response, he reaches for the keyboard, aims his eyes at the screen in front of him, and begins to enter a long, seemingly random string of characters into the computer.

"Activating the diagnostic program," Chuck says quietly.

Several lines of code appear on the screen—and nothing else happens, except for the steady blinking of the cursor.

"Malware deactivated. And this antiviral will scrub it out completely." Chuck picks up the thumb drive and bends down to insert it into the central processing unit, which hums softly for a moment—

—until, heralded by a soft _ping!_ sound, the logo of the Central Intelligence Agency and the words WELCOME TO DEEP SKILLET. SECURE LOGIN? appear on the screen. The _pings_ echo all around the cavernous lab as all of the other computers awaken, and the same logo pops up on all of the other monitors.

"And—we're _done!"_ Chuck exclaims, leaning over in his chair to receive a happy embrace from Sarah.

"Verify it," Saldana brusquely instructs her technicians. Each of them sits down at a different terminal and attempts to log into the system. They all get in right away, and after a few minutes of testing system functions, they all give Saldana the thumbs-up sign.

Chuck gets to his feet. Saldana seizes his hand and shakes it enthusiastically.

"Congratulations! _¡Bien hecho! _That was truly well done!"

Then, with a knowing grin and a wink, she adds, "Of course...I am really not cognizant of how you _actually_ contrived to do this. But I think we will manage to get the secret out of you somehow..._no?"_

Sarah doesn't like the sound of that. She steps closer to Chuck.

"No—_you_ first, Juanita," she insists. "Why did you lie to us about the malware attack? We know it didn't come from the outside at all."

"Ah! Very good, Sarah," replies Saldana. "I suppose that I _will_ find your report to be interesting reading, after all. You are correct. The malware was already here—lying in wait for us—when the CIA took possession of this facility—"

"Took _possession?"_ Chuck blurts out. "You mean from DARPA?"

Saldana folds her arms and smiles. "No. From _Fulcrum."_

Chuck is stunned, and Sarah is confused, so Saldana continues her story.

"It took us two years to sweep out all of the booby traps that Fulcrum left behind. And _you_ have just taken care of the last and worst one. You have done the Agency a great service."

"We're happy to have done it," says Chuck sheepishly. "Assuming Carmichael Industries still gets paid, of course."

From behind them, unexpectedly, comes an authoritative male voice.

_"Of course you will, Mr. Bartowski. But there is so much work yet to be done."_

Startled, Chuck and Sarah whirl around to discover the Professor rolling toward them in his wheelchair. Sarah looks completely lost—but Chuck gasps in recognition.

_"Professor? _Professor _Fleming!"_


	8. Chapter 7

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck,_ but I hope it's okay with The Powers That Be that I borrow its universe for a little while longer.

* * *

**CHAPTER 7 **

**Sixth day, near dawn, in Deep Skillet**

On the heels of the revelations that had just rocked them, it comes as only a minor additional shock to Chuck and Sarah when Saldana dismisses her technicians from the lab without explanation, goes back into her side office, and returns with a chilled bottle of fine champagne and four glasses. She lays the glasses out on the conference table in the middle of the lab and waves to everyone to come join her there.

As Professor Fleming rolls up to the table, Saldana hands him the bottle. Jovially, he pops the cork and fills each glass nearly to the brim.

"Chuck! Sarah!" Fleming booms as he puts the bottle down and seizes a glass. "I hope I may address you this way—now please, let's all toast the resurrection of Deep Skillet!"

Without waiting for Sarah and Chuck to respond, Saldana thrusts glasses of champagne into their hands, then holds the last one high.

_"¡Salud!"_ She and Fleming drain their glasses. Chuck and Sarah look at them skeptically, and then take polite sips of the champagne.

"Professor—" Chuck begins.

"George! Call me George. Please. And have a seat. Relax and enjoy the moment!"

"Okay...George." Chuck holds a chair out for Sarah and then sits down. "We never learned what happened after the attempt on your life. It's great that you survived."

"Thank you," Fleming replies. "The good doctors saved me. But there were some complications during the surgery." He lifts his arms and looks down at his legs. "No matter—I persevere."

He turns toward Sarah and smiles pleasantly at her.

"I don't expect you would remember me, Sarah. We never had the opportunity to get acquainted—as I was quite skewered at the time!" Fleming laughs and slaps the armrests on his wheelchair.

"However," he continues in a more serious tone, "you should know that Chuck was a student of mine at Stanford. As was Bryce Larkin, whom I believe you knew—in fact, I recruited him for the CIA. And Juanita studied with me as well, not long after Chuck left Stanford—to my everlasting regret, it should be noted."

"So Chuck and I share a significant pedigree," adds Saldana. "Little wonder we are both such brilliant and attractive nerds, _no?" _ She pats Chuck on the arm.

"Nevertheless, Juanita dear," Sarah retorts, "there's a _big _difference between you and my husband. You only _think_ you are the smartest person in the room."

"If I may proceed..." Fleming interjects, as Saldana rolls her eyes and Chuck grins. "My convalescence afforded me plenty of time to reflect and study. Having come to the realization that Chuck, Larkin, the CIA, and the crossbow assault were all interlinked somehow, I threw myself into researching the case."

He leans forward in his chair. "And I eventually learned that the true catalyst of Larkin's and my conspiracy to expel Chuck from Stanford was none other than his _father:_ the genius and former CIA engineer, Stephen Bartowski!"

"My dad did that to _protect_ me!" Chuck insists—clearly taken aback by this unexpected intrusion into his personal history. Sarah inobtrusively eases her chair closer to his, and rests a reassuring hand on his leg.

"Indeed he did!" Fleming concurs. "But _why?_ It was as if he had anticipated that my neuro-visualization tests would identify you as a prime candidate for the Omaha Project—even _before_ it all happened! How could he possibly know this?"

Chuck's entire body tenses, and Sarah looks ready to swat Fleming, as he goes on in the deep, steady voice of a practiced lecturer.

"So—next came intensive study of Stephen's papers and reports and scientific legacy. And also anything I could uncover about _you,_ Chuck—who, despite Larkin's and my best efforts, nevertheless landed in the employ of the CIA!"

Saldana leans forward in anticipation...

"Now, the Agency granted me access only to the less secure technical files—and they never saw fit to let me in on your secret. No matter. My analysis of your father's work inexorably led me to the truth."

Fleming pauses, smiles, and holds out a hand, palm up, toward Chuck.

"Which was, of course—_you,_ the Human Intersect!"

_"Was_ is the operative word," Chuck replies in a convincingly bored tone. "No longer. And the Intersect died with Quinn. I guess you haven't seen General Beckman's report."

"Beckman is in denial!" Saldana fires back. "As one would expect from an old friend and unabashed advocate of your team. But _I _am certain that you two _never_ would have allowed Nicholas Quinn to have that final Intersect upload. Here—let me show you something."

Saldana casually reaches beneath the conference table behind her—and produces an iPhone. She swings it forward, aiming the screen point-blank at Chuck and Sarah.

Acting on pure instinct, Chuck cries _"No!"_ and throws his hand out in front of Sarah to shield her eyes, as she grimaces from remembered agony. But the iPhone remains dark, and after a moment Saldana withdraws it.

"Interesting," notes Saldana. "This is _my_ phone—but it seems you thought it was one of yours. Which could mean that yours was made Intersect-ready...and if so, for _whose_ use, exactly?"

"Bitch," mutters Sarah, shaking her head to compose herself. Fleming immediately rolls up in front of her, concerned that she might attack Saldana.

"I apologize for that little melodrama," he softly says. "Though it proved our point, I think. Be assured we mean you both no harm—I mean, what threat could _we_ possibly pose to the two of _you?_ Our true objective in all of this is mutually beneficial."

Neither Chuck nor Sarah looks mollified.

"No one outside of this room knows anything of this," says Saldana. "Your secret is safe."

Chuck takes a slow breath, then says, "All right, then...George. All the cards out on the table. This is why _we_ were picked for this job, I presume?"

"Yes," Fleming replies. "Juanita has been the CIA's point person on Deep Skillet ever since it was seized in the defeat of Fulcrum. Their BIOS worm was so intractable that the Agency was ready to abandon the base. So Juanita turned to me, her old mentor, for advice—and I realized this would be an excellent test of the capabilities of the third-generation Intersect."

"And the Professor and I also knew it would be too much of a challenge for a problem-solver as gifted as _you_—Chuck—to resist," Saldana adds.

Chuck laughs hollowly. "After all these years, you finally figured out a way to give me that final exam I never took—huh, Professor?"

He turns to Sarah. "You nailed it, babe."

"Yeah—too bad," she says with a frown. "By now we'd be headed back to our honeymoon."

"So you've outed me," says Chuck to Fleming and Saldana. "Congratulations. What now?"

"Ah yes—what now!" Behind his wire-frames, Fleming's eyes are twinkling.

"Chuck, I know that it was your father's intent all along—and sadly, his thwarted dream—that the technology underpinning the Intersect would someday be _readily available to everyone,_ as a means to enhance human learning and reasoning! And _I_ want to bring that dream to fruition...as does Juanita."

"But we cannot do this without _your_ help, Chuck," says Saldana as she rises from her seat. "And Sarah's of course—we need Carmichael Industries as our partner..."

Suddenly all sincerity, Saldana leans closer to Chuck, while Sarah shoots her the stink eye.

"You have demonstrated what a human Intersect is capable of doing," she avers. "Now you can show the rest of the world how to do the same."

"We already have state-of-the-art neuroengineering and cybertech labs ready at Stanford," Fleming says with hands clasped excitedly, "and several hundred million dollars in Silicon Valley venture capital on the table. All of this can be mobilized with one brief phone call."

"So you're saying you want to _commercialize_ the Intersect?" asks Chuck in dazed disbelief. "How would you be able to do that? I mean—even though it's mothballed, it's still classified government technology."

"So was the Global Positioning System, initially," Fleming quickly responds. "But today there's a GPS receiver in every smartphone and every new dashboard."

"And the ones who brought it to market are now worth billions," observes Sarah.

"Surely you find nothing wrong in _that,"_ Saldana counters. "You yourself are a businesswoman now."

"But the CIA and NSA would _never_ permit it," Chuck argues. "Especially not after Deep Skillet. Soon as they find out what happened here, the Intersect Project goes back online in a heartbeat. And I get a date with the suppression device. At best."

"What could you possibly be talking about?" asks Saldana sarcastically. "You used a _hardware_ solution to bring Deep Skillet back on line, did you not? That is all the CIA or NSA ever need know about what transpired down here. But rest assured that in my closing report I will praise the expertise of Carmichael Industries to the very stars!"

"Wow," Chuck says, his mouth agape in amazement. "Fixing Deep Skillet was your mission—but _we_ were the sub-mission all along, weren't we?"

"Deception was simply necessary for the plan to work," says Saldana matter-of-factly. "No malice toward the two of you was ever intended."

"Wow is right," adds Sarah. "There's being played—and then there's _really_ being played. You took it to another level, Juanita. Hate to admit it but I'm kind of impressed."

"Does that mean you're on board?" Fleming eagerly asks.

Sarah and Chuck nod at each other and get to their feet.

"We are so _not_ on board," Sarah says. "This doesn't smell right."

"Exactly. So thanks but no thanks...George," Chuck adds. "Now if you'll excuse us, we've got to go pack up our equipment. It's almost dawn."

"You're…_turning us down?"_ Saldana gasps. "Do you even _realize_ what you are passing up?"

"What about your father's dream?" pleads Fleming.

Chuck gives him a piercing look and says, "You don't know my Dad nearly as well as you think you do." Then he and Sarah go to retrieve the tools they left around the area of the master console.

"But thanks for the champagne," Sarah jauntily tosses back over her shoulder. Saldana's jaws are set in frustration, but Fleming remains unruffled—at least outwardly.

"That's all right," he calls out to Chuck and Sarah in a friendly tone, as they walk away. "We just got off on the wrong foot tonight, that's all. You take some time and think about it! And when you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Fleming pivots his wheelchair around, looks up at Saldana, and nods almost imperceptibly.

"See what you can do—but don't overdo it," he quietly instructs her. Then he wheels himself away through the exit and out to the tunnel.

_"Así lo haré,"_ Saldana murmurs, and takes hold of her iPad.

* * *

**At about the same time, near Hoover Dam**

Morgan and Alex, still parked beside the highway, can discern the first faint glow of dawn on the eastern horizon—out beyond the rugged landscape and the floodlit dam complex in the near distance.

Alex leans casually against the front end of their Ford Expedition. Her coffee has gone cold, but she downs the last of it anyway, and stretches luxuriantly.

"It's almost that time," she notes, checking her watch.

"Yep," agrees Morgan, who is still sitting on the front bumper nursing his last cup. "Hopefully all went well down there tonight...which means that the weekend starts n—"

_VWOOOOOSHH! VWOOOOOSHH! _

They never heard them coming—but Morgan and Alex are suddenly battered by the pressure waves from two sleek jet-black helicopters flying very fast and scarily low, without any lights, right over their heads.

"What the _hell!"_ shouts Morgan, rubbing at the cold coffee splattered all over the front of his windbreaker.

"This does _not_ look good," Alex says, pointing to the trajectory of the helicopters: straight toward the dam.

"Let's roll!" Morgan jumps behind the wheel of the SUV and Alex bounds into the shotgun seat—and they go roaring down the four-lane, over the short downhill stretch to the turnoff for the visitor entrance to Hoover Dam.

"Dam's still closed!" Alex cries out. Although the gates are shut, a few tourist vehicles are idling just in front of the entrance in the faint light, waiting to get in—and precluding any possibility of rapid access by that route.

"Okay—then it's the bridge," Morgan says through gritted teeth. "Gotta get a clearer view!"

He guns the engine and presses on toward the approach to the high arched O'Callaghan-Tillman Bypass Bridge. Just short of the abutment, he wrenches the wheel and yanks the Expedition all the way onto the shoulder—directly beneath a big red-and-white NO PARKING sign. Paying the sign no heed, Morgan and Alex jump out with binoculars in hand and run across the highway to the pedestrian walkway on the north side of the bridge.

In the faint dawn light they jog along the walkway, out over the jagged rocky abyss of the Colorado River gorge. Morgan feels his stomach dance as he peers down at the sweeping crest of the mighty dam nearly two hundred feet below them, and the black ribbon of water seven hundred feet farther below. A cool, faintly musty breeze wafts up from the depths.

Alex and Morgan pull up when they are halfway across, and lean on the railing to catch their breath. They can see only one other person on the bridge—a lone figure standing at the rail a few paces farther along toward the Arizona side, dressed in a dark hoodie and looking straight out into space. Morgan makes a mental note of that scene as Alex, looking very worried, passes him the binoculars.

"Oh _no_—no, no, no," he groans as he focuses on the scene below. One of the black helicopters is perched alongside the Bureau of Reclamation chopper on the powerhouse roof, and a rifle-toting six-man tactical team in midnight-black body armor is already sprinting down the stairway into the building. The other helicopter is nowhere to be seen.

"We have to do something _now!"_ Alex insists. "How can we warn Chuck and Sarah?"

Morgan shakes his head. "They're still inside. Only one thing we _can_ do. It's not quite the time Chuck said to do it—but I've gotta make that call—right now!" He reaches into his jacket pocket and takes out his iPhone.

"Where's the card Chuck gave you? Did you bring it?" Alex asks him frantically.

"No need. I programmed the number in my contact list." Morgan flicks the phone on and begins to thumb through the listings.

_"Hey! You two over there! Hold it!"_

Startled, Morgan freezes. He and Alex look back toward the Nevada end of the bridge and spot a beefy policeman sprinting intently toward them like a middle linebacker.

"Oh _man,_ not now," grumbles Morgan. "Probably wants to give us a parking ticket."

He goes back to searching through his contact list, locates the number he wanted, and presses the call key, just as the hard-charging officer reaches them.

_"Morgan! Look out!"_ Alex screams—because the big policeman _doesn't stop,_ but instead throws himself at Morgan and punches the iPhone out of his hand! Morgan crashes hard against the railing as his phone tumbles end-over-end through the air and vanishes from sight long before it hits the river.

"Geez...what...the..." Morgan gasps, bent over in pain. Alex moans softly, throws her arms around him from behind, and looks up defiantly at their attacker. The policeman—or whatever he is—puts a finger to his lips, then pulls his revolver and aims it at them.

"Hush now...just relax," he says. "Nobody needs to get shot. We're all going to stand right here and wait peaceably for a little while, until the folks down there take care of all their business. You _got_ that, shrimp? Unless you wanna go in after your phone!"

* * *

**Meanwhile, back down in Deep Skillet**

Chuck and Sarah carefully repack their tools in their carrying cases as Saldana lurks on the side, paying precise attention to their actions and to each piece they pick up. After they finish packing, Chuck turns to the master console and grandiosely sweeps his hand over the cobbled assemblage of electronic devices—his cybernetic decoy—still connected.

"You said these'll figure prominently in your_—ahem—_report," he says to Saldana, "and the CIA already paid for them anyway, so I'll just leave them for you to deal with."

"Good. There is one other thing I am still curious about," she replies. "The Professor was not cleared to read General Beckman's report in its entirety, but I have the advantage of having studied it meticulously. I have an issue with it."

"Which would be…?" asks Sarah.

"Prior intel indicated that Quinn was on the verge of assembling the Key—I know you both are well aware of what _that_ is—before he went to the Pacific Concert Hall to deploy his bomb. But Beckman's report does not mention the Key at all. Curious."

"Maybe he was too busy cackling over his revenge to remember to tell her," Chuck suggests.

"Perhaps," Saldana says. "An alternative hypothesis is that the General had something that Quinn needed to complete the Key, and he came to take it from her. Rather embarrassing for her if that were the case."

As Saldana continues talking, Sarah slowly moves around to the side of the master console, so that she and Chuck can flank her on two sides.

"At any rate…much like that final Intersect upload, the Key apparently just…_vaporized_ when Sarah killed Quinn."

"That's all very interesting," Chuck interjects, "but what exactly is your point, Juanita?"

"That there is a _third_ hypothesis: Beckman redacted any reference to the Key because she was eager to be done with the Intersect Project—and she knew the Key was in good hands."

Saldana looks directly at Chuck and smiles—in a friendly way, without the usual smugness.

"Chuck, you and I have much the same expertise, and this is not coincidence. I think that you used the Key to hack into this CPU and optically decode the malware with the help of the Intersect."

Her eyes wander downward. "And I think you have the Key in your possession right at this moment—perhaps wired into that iPhone in your back pocket?"

"Back pocket?" Chuck snickers. "You'd better be _real_ careful where you're looking, what with my wife standing right next to you!"

"And _you_ should remember that you signed an agreement allowing us to search you at any time. Strip search if necessary. I could call in a few guards to enforce that—wife or no wife."

"You'd just get them all injured," Sarah retorts. Saldana ignores her and holds her hand out expectantly to Chuck.

"Damn, baby, I think we're busted," Chuck says—but he is still subtly smiling. He takes the iPhone out of his pocket. "Pass me a pentalobe screwdriver from the kit, will you?"

"Of course, sweetie." Sarah fishes through the equipment case for the right screwdriver, and hands it to Chuck over the top of the master console. With practiced ease, Chuck opens the back of his iPhone and holds it out in front of Saldana.

"I don't see any Key in here," he says. "Do you?"

Irritated, Saldana grabs the phone out of his hand to examine the internal components more closely. Finding nothing, she huffs and puts it down on the bench. Chuck immediately snaps it up, replaces the cover, and puts it back in his pocket.

"I _need_ that! Hey—maybe Sarah's phone is the right one," he offers. "Toss me your iPhone, baby."

Sarah does so, and Chuck opens the back of her phone the same way as before. Meanwhile, Saldana moves closer to the bench, where the two equipment cases lay open, and glances down at them. Sarah sees what she is doing—but has no time to react before Saldana has reached into one of the cases and come out with the multimeter.

"Same thing," says Chuck, holding up Sarah's opened iPhone for inspection. "No Key in this one either. Guess that your hypothesis is shot—"

He stops in mid-sentence when he notices that Saldana has the multimeter.

_(Music: "Plastic Explosives," by Tim Jones)_

"The techs told me you went under the console with this," Saldana says triumphantly. "But you know…it feels rather unbalanced and heavy for a digital multimeter." She holds it up to one ear and shakes it.

"Be _careful_ with that!" cries Sarah. She holds out her hands in alarm. "Don't mess with it!"

"And why not?" Saldana runs her fingers around the sides of the device, feeling for concealed buttons or catches. _"¡Ah, bueno!"_ She locates the sliding switch that pops the front panel off, and looks inside. Her smug grin reappears.

"And you believed you would be _permitted_ to leave Deep Skillet with this?" Saldana asks incredulously, while reaching into the case to disengage the iPhone hidden inside.

"I wouldn't _do_ that," Chuck warns.

"_I_ would," Saldana retorts. "I would like to examine the real Key. To this point all I have ever seen are schematics." She tugs the iPhone free from its mooring with a sharp _snap._ It spontaneously switches on—and then, in its familiar robotic-female Siri voice, the iPhone announces:

"_Self-destruct function activated. Self-destruct in thirty seconds."_

"Told ya," says Chuck.

Saldana drops the iPhone on the bench as if it's searing hot, and takes a step back.

"You are bluffing," she insists. "There is _no way_ you could have smuggled any explosive materials into this facility. We have sniffers!"

"_Self-destruct in twenty-five seconds."_

Chuck holds out the pentalobe screwdriver and taunts, "You're welcome to test _that_ hypothesis too, Juanita!"

"Deactivate it! Now!"

"Can't," Chuck replies, visibly amused by Saldana's confusion as she hesitantly backs farther away from the threatening iPhone. Sarah comes around the console to rejoin him, puts a hand on his shoulder, and nudges him a couple of steps back too.

"_¡Muy loco!_" Saldana yells at them. "Both of you—_muy loco_…you're wildcards…"

"Guess we are all that," Sarah says, affectionately squeezing Chuck's shoulder.

"And a bag of chips," Chuck adds.

"_Self-destruct in ten seconds…Self-destruct in five seconds!...Four, three, two, one—goodbye."_

"_No!"_ cries Saldana, now standing a good distance away across the lab.

The iPhone begins to buzz loudly and vibrate violently. Then comes a dazzling blue-white electric arc and a cloud of black smoke, followed by the strong stench of melted plastic. The phone lies mute on the bench: its casing blackened and distorted, its screen shattered.

"Who said anything about explosives?" Chuck calmly asks. "You can do plenty of damage with just the right kind of battery."

"_¡Ay que la chingada!" _Saldana swears vehemently. "You _wanted_ that to happen, didn't you! You _are_ a wildcard, Chuck—and as long as you possess the Intersect you cannot be allowed to simply run amok with it!"

"The government is welcome to take it back out _any time_ it wants to," Chuck says.

Saldana just sighs and shakes her head.

"_Sí, sí_…but the reality is—we cannot. If it is stripped from you now, it will be lost. You are the only proven fully functional Human Intersect. This is precisely why the Professor and I need you to join us—to help us."

"To help you as a colleague…or as a _laboratory animal?"_ asks Sarah sharply.

"Ah, Sarah," replies Saldana, as she takes a sideways step over to a row of workstation cubicles. Her iPad is concealed inside the nearest cubicle. "We have our differences…but I can only admire your protective instincts."

Then she reaches around and seizes the iPad. Across the room, Sarah and Chuck tense.

"But your question is academic," Saldana continues, nestling the iPad comfortably in the crook of her left arm and tapping out a sequence of commands. "That is because the both of you are going to go into CIA detention until you come to see reason."

Immediately, Sarah assumes a fighting stance, and Chuck flashes on kung fu before doing the same. Then, with matching stony expressions, the Bartowskis start walking shoulder-to-shoulder toward the exit.

"We are leaving," says Chuck. "Don't get in our way."

Saldana laughs. "Before you even reach the tunnel, I think you are going to meet a CIA extraction team that is—_hah_—in your way. However, in the interest of minimizing collateral damage…." She taps the iPad screen four times, and points up at the ceiling.

"…_say hello to my little friends."_

Four Noctuidors drop from the top of a light fixture and home in on Chuck and Sarah.

_(Music: "Insects," by Oingo Boingo) _

Chuck is confused. "What the—_moths?"_

"_No!"_ yells Sarah as she pulls Chuck with her toward the back of the lab, with the tiny craft in pursuit. "They're _nano-drones_—you don't remember? If they land they tranq us!"

"Oh _geez!" _

As he and Sarah run—with little hope of staying ahead of the drone moths for more than a few seconds—Chuck glimpses the flattened corrugated boxes from the hardware shipment to Deep Skillet, stacked against the side wall. He tugs on Sarah's arm; she sees the boxes and instantly understands. They make a sharp right-angle turn into an aisle between parallel rows of consoles, and plunge full-out for the wall.

To Saldana, watching Sarah and Chuck through the camera eyes of the nano-drones as she pilots them with the iPad, the sudden move speaks of panic. She crows in triumph—and relief—expecting that the troublesome couple will be neutralized in just a few seconds….

"_Jump!"_ Sarah cries. Together, still arm-in-arm, the gymnastic former assassin-spy and the Intersect-enhanced engineer hurdle the final bank of consoles and tumble to the floor within reach of the stacked boxes. With one swift and graceful motion, Sarah slides a box out of the stack and flips it up in front of them both, just as—

_Tunk—thunk!_ Two Noctuidors hit the makeshift shield at full speed, drop, and roll backwards across the tile floor.

"Way to go, babe!" cheers Chuck as the two of them hunker down behind Sarah's shield.

"Call them off _now,_ Juanita!" Sarah yells. "Or we'll have to hurt you!"

"Jokers to the end, you are!" Saldana calls back. She manages to redirect the other two nano-drones before they crash into Sarah's shield. They loop around toward the ceiling and then dive straight for Chuck's and Sarah's heads, exposed in the narrow space between the shield and the wall.

But Chuck is already reaching out to yank a second flattened box out of the stack; he hoists it overhead and—

_Whump—whump!_ One of the diving drones bounces sideways and lands on the floor near its companions, but the other one embeds in the corrugated cardboard and is stuck, with its robotic moth wings fluttering uselessly.

For a second, Saldana futilely tries to free the stuck nano-drone. Then, swearing under her breath, she turns back to the three on the floor, which have automatically righted themselves and repositioned their wings. Saldana relaunches them and sends them back at Chuck and Sarah from the side.

"Can't hold out here too long," says Chuck anxiously. "Gotta get that iPad away from her!"

"You still got that screwdriver on you?" Sarah asks.

"Umm—yeah—_yeah, I do!"_ He presses it into her hand. "Go get 'er, babe."

"You'll have to cover me. Are you ready?"

He smooches the back of her head and says, "As ever."

Just as the first of the three Noctuidors zooms in from her blind side, Sarah drops her shield, gauges the distance to her target, and hurls the screwdriver at Saldana with all her might. At that same instant, the drone moth alights on her neck and Sarah screams for Chuck—and he's right there with Intersect reflexes to slap the device off his wife and send it skidding far out into the middle of the lab.

The screwdriver pierces Saldana's right bicep. She _shrieks_ and drops the iPad. Instantly, the three active nano-drones retreat to the ceiling and the stuck one stops fluttering.

"At least I didn't _break_ it this time," Sarah coldly says. She starts running toward Saldana, who pulls the screwdriver out of her arm with another shrill cry of pain and drops it, then shakily bends to retrieve her iPad.

"_Don't,"_ growls Sarah. Saldana looks up, whimpers, then turns and runs to the exit, shouting for the guard at the door. She gets through and the big door slams shut just before Sarah reaches it.

"Damn!" Sarah scans the door for latches or deadbolts. "And Saldana probably wasn't bluffing about the tac team—we've got to lock it from this side and _quick!"_

"Already on it, babe." Chuck has Saldana's iPad and is swiftly flipping and searching through folders and windows on the desktop.

"Okay—sure hope this works." He taps the screen—and three heavy bolts slide down out of the doorframe to firmly secure the door. A few seconds later, the door starts to throb and vibrate from hard pounding on the other side.

"That's my geeky guy," Sarah sighs. She turns on her heels to seize Chuck in a jubilant embrace.

Chuck answers, "And _my_ ninja gal," and kisses her passionately—but briefly, given the urgency of their situation.

"How much time do you think you bought us?" asks Sarah.

"Not sure. It should take maybe ten, fifteen minutes to override my command. Longer if they have to cut the door open."

"What's our exit strategy?"

"Working on that," says Chuck. "There has to be another tunnel—they couldn't have brought in all those big boxes of peripherals through that narrow tube we've been taking in and out of here."

"But there are bound to be hidden alarms and barriers we don't know about," says Sarah.

"Yeah." Chuck looks thoughtfully down at the iPad. "All the intel we need is in _here_—but it'll take time that we don't have to get at it the old-school way. There is an alternative, though."

Sarah nods. "You did save the real Key, didn't you?"

Grinning, Chuck fishes it out of his pocket. "Of course I did—_it's me!_ And by the way, your shell-game idea was brilliant, babe. Three Intersect-ready phones and one Key. Your Dad would be totally proud of you."

They rush back to their equipment boxes at the master console. Chuck finds a fresh pentalobe screwdriver and opens his iPhone.

"The Agency can have that other screwdriver,_"_ he wryly observes, as he plugs the Key into the socket he had previously prepared for it, then replaces the back cover. He sets the iPhone and Saldana's iPad side-by-side on the bench and activates them both.

"This'll be another first," Chuck says. "An Intersect upload via Bluetooth. It'll take a few extra seconds to complete but the outcome should still be the same. And baby—remember to turn your back."

"Wait a second." Sarah caresses his face and eyes him with concern. "All these data going into your brain—are you _sure_ you should be doing this? I mean, every storage device has its capacity."

"You know, you're _so_ hot when you talk nerdy to me," Chuck murmurs. "One more small upload's not going to be a problem. And when we're all through with Deep Skillet you've got an appointment with Ellie in Chicago, right? I can ask her to run some tests on me too."

Sarah takes a deep breath, reluctantly steps away from her husband, and turns her back as he bends down toward the iPhone and flashes on it. His fingers again do their lightning dance on the smartphone screen as his enhanced mind reaches out through the Key and the wireless link into the processor and memory of the iPad. The two devices exchange signals for five seconds, and then the Human Intersect receives his stream of encoded images.

When the upload stops, Chuck shakes his head and blinks—then straightens up, stuffs the iPhone back in his pocket, and gently puts a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"Smooth as silk, babe. Got the map in my head now. It's time to get the hell outta Dodge."

Sarah turns around with a sweet smile. "I love you."

"Love you too." Chuck points the way and they start running—into Saldana's back office, along a corridor past two-way mirrors and spy monitors, and out to the secret loading dock behind Deep Skillet. Their passage is blocked by a watertight door similar to the ones in the front entrance tunnel, but large enough to allow a semi-truck to pass through. Chuck finds a keypad next to the door and flashes on it.

"Okay," he says, "there are three doors like this between us and rest of the tunnel. They're supposed to open and close in sequence like an airlock, but there's a code to bypass that and open them all at once." He quickly types it in.

Hidden motors groan to life, and the huge door begins to creak and slide sideways—but painfully slowly. Sarah and Chuck stand right in front, breathing hard and tapping their feet impatiently, until the door moves barely enough for them to squeeze past it. The two doors ahead of them are also sliding open just as Chuck expected, and they zip past both of them as well.

Chuck and Sarah find themselves in the upstream end of the abandoned bypass tunnel. Unlike the tunnel leading from the powerhouse, this one is configured for vehicular traffic: a two-lane road and line of overhead lamps extends as far ahead of them as they can see.

"This leads out to the lakeshore, about two miles," Chuck tells Sarah. "Soon as we get outside we can call Morgan and Alex to find us." He is about to start jogging when she grabs his arm to stop him.

"_Listen,"_ she whispers_. "I think I hear vehicles coming this way."_

Chuck cups a hand to his ear, points it down the tunnel, and nods grimly.

"Must be another CIA tac team covering the back door." He looks intently down the tunnel. "Now I see the headlights. We can't go that way."

He holds still and flashes again, then gives a thumbs-up sign and leads Sarah a few meters farther, to a large grating in the tunnel wall. Cool, dry air is blowing out of the grating.

"All right," says Chuck. "This is going to be a bit tight but we can make it. Behind this is a ventilation duct running parallel to the tunnel. Every so often an air shaft breaks off from that duct and leads about six hundred feet straight up to the surface. Are we up for a little bit of crawling and climbing?"

"_Anything_ to get us out of this damned dungeon," Sarah replies. She produces a pocketknife with screwdriver blades and gets to work unfastening the grating. Then she and Chuck tug with all their strength until the old rusty fixture gives way.

They squeeze through the opening and pull the grating back in place behind them, then start crawling on all fours through the pitch-black ventilation duct, heading upwind, with Chuck in the lead. He takes out his iPhone and switches it into flashlight mode to help guide them.

"Chuck?" Sarah calls out after a few minutes of steady crawling.

"Yeah babe?"

"Am I remembering correctly that you and I spent a lot of missions doing this sort of thing?"

"That's right. But we've had it much worse than this. At least this one isn't full of—umm—sewage. First air shaft is coming up just ahead, by the way."

A few minutes more and they reach the shaft—just wide enough to pass through, with a ladder running up one side. Sarah and Chuck are heartened to see a tiny pinpoint of bright light far up at the top.

"We'll be back to our suite in time for a mimosa brunch," Chuck says in delight. He swings onto the ladder and extends a hand to help Sarah up.

But then—without any warning—the ventilation duct echoes with a series of loud metallic _clangs,_ which sound exactly like doors slamming shut all along its length. Then: a colder and moister gust of wind whistling in from the far end…and the unmistakable scent and sound of rushing water!

"Uh-oh," says Sarah.

"_That's_ not in the Deep Skillet database," adds Chuck nervously. "Something tells me that the CIA might've missed a few of those old Fulcrum booby-traps."

"Go! _Go!_ Climb!" Sarah cries, smacking the soles of his Chuck Taylors.

They ascend about a hundred feet before the water from the lake arrives beneath them, roiling headlong through the duct. Soon the duct is completely filled—and now the water begins to rise rapidly in the vertical shaft.

Chuck laughs fatalistically. "Good news is it'll be a quicker trip to the surface than we thought. Bad news is we might drown before we get there."

"Just keep going!" Sarah urges him.

They clear another fifty feet, but the rising water is quickly gaining on them. The noise intensifies and the walls of the air shaft begin to rattle.

"We can't outclimb it!" Chuck shouts, leaning out to look back down the shaft. "Oh boy, and that water's gonna be really, really cold too!"

"Chuck—_quick!"_ Sarah yells up at him. "Reach up above you and grab onto the ladder with both hands. Hold on as tight as you can and lean forward. Do it!"

Chuck grabs the ladder above his head and leans out, just as he is told.

"Good—now _listen!_ When the water hits—you let go and let it carry you up with your arms extended above your head. You _let go,_ you understand?"

"But what about _you,_ babe?" he asks her frantically.

Sarah's response is to gaze up at Chuck—with a look both intensely loving and fiercely determined—

—and then, she springs up off the ladder and flings herself against her husband. She coils her legs securely around Chuck's waist and wraps her arms tightly around his neck.

_"I_ will _never_ let go," she says, face-to-face with him.

The roar in the shaft becomes deafening as the water rushes up toward them.

"It's _not_ ending here, Sarah!" Chuck tries to sound as reassuring as he can, considering that he is shouting in her ear. "Not after what we've already been through! We're gonna make it…_right?"_

"Of course we are—now _shut up and kiss me!"_

Chuck and Sarah lock lips and close their eyes tightly, just as the frothing, icy water smashes into them.


	9. Chapter 8

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck_—but it's fun to try and write as if I did.

* * *

**CHAPTER 8 **

**Sixth day, right before sunrise, atop the O'Callaghan-Tillman Bypass Bridge**

Held at gunpoint by an unidentified but violent operative masquerading as a policeman, high on the spectacular bridge above mighty Hoover Dam—deep beneath which, somewhere, Chuck and Sarah are in peril and depending on them for aid—Morgan and Alex are frightened, worried, and pissed off.

With Alex's help, Morgan gingerly gets to his feet after having been slammed against the bridge guardrail by their attacker. He takes a protective half-step in front of her, as they stand shakily at the railing. His eyes shift back and forth in frustration between the unfolding incident at the dam below and the revolver pointed directly at his midsection, while Alex wordlessly glares over Morgan's bruised shoulder at the bogus policeman.

"Listen," Morgan pleads, "I don't know who you think we are—but we're just tourists, man! All I was doing just now was checking us in on Facebook. I don't know why you—"

"_Shut up,_ shrimp!" their burly captor snarls, and aims the gun at Alex's forehead. "You talk too damn much. One more word and I'll do your girlfriend."

Grinning menacingly, he extends the weapon toward Alex as Morgan rises on his toes, attempting to shield her.

The bogus policeman starts to laugh at them both—but the sound morphs into a faint _"Huh?"_ as he inexplicably grabs at his neck. Then his jaw droops, his eyes glaze over, and he topples toward Morgan and Alex. Reacting quickly, Morgan grabs the man's revolver on its way down and nudges Alex out of the way as their captor pancakes face-down on the sidewalk—with three tiny darts in the back of his neck.

Standing behind him on the sidewalk is a shrouded female figure in a black UNLV hoodie—the one Morgan noticed earlier on the bridge—holding a tranq pistol. She slips the hood back to reveal herself: Mary Bartowski!

"_Mama B!_ Thank goodness!" cries Morgan. He looks down at the unconscious agent and nudges him with his foot. "Nighty-night, douche!"

"Morgan, you watch your language," says Mary firmly. "And I think you should let me have that gun."

"Oh, okay, sure…" Morgan hands her the revolver while Alex gives her a grateful hug. "How'd you know we were here anyway?"

"How did _you_ miss _me_ in the back of your truck?" Mary replies with a mischievous grin.

"Ummm…well…."

"Fantastic save, Mrs. Bartowski," Alex interjects. "Thanks! We were trying to call for help for Chuck and Sarah. Morgan had a number…"

Her voice trails off as she reaches frantically into the pocket of her jeans for her own iPhone, and all but throws it at her boyfriend.

"Morgan! You've got to find that number _right away_—Google it or something _please!"_

He thumbs the screen. "Oh boy, let's see…Hey wait, I've got a _better _idea! There's something else Chuck told me…" He opens Alex's address book and quickly zeroes in on a specific listing. Then he shows the screen to Alex so she can read the name: _Dad._

"That go to his satellite phone?" he asks her.

"Yes but what—?" Alex cuts her question off because Morgan is already calling the number. He shifts impatiently from one foot to the other while circuits click into place, directing his call who knows where…then finally a ring…and before the second ring, a familiar baritone voice comes on the line:

_("Alex? Alex! Is that you? Are you all right?" _Then—somewhere farther off, an explosion!…_)_

"Casey, it's me—Morgan. I'm borrowing Alex's phone."

(A burst of machine-gun fire…and then:_ "Morgan? What the—where's Alex—is something wrong?")_

"She's fine, John. She's right here. We're in Vegas on a little vacation—"

"_Hi,_ Dad!" Alex yells over his shoulder at the phone.

_("Well that's terrific, numbnuts, but I'm a little busy—[KA-WHOOM!]—right about now!")_

"I kinda got that," Morgan replies, "but actually, it's Gertrude I need to talk to."

_("Whaaaa? What makes you think she's anywhere near here, you moron?")_

"Ahh! Casey, you just don't know how I've missed hearing you call me that! But come on, man—you've been gone almost a _week_ now! Couldn't have taken you that long to find her!"

(Casey grunts—it sounds like an affirmative grunt—and an instant later, Gertrude Verbanski is on the line, shouting over the roar of a rocket launcher._ "Grimes! What the hell do you want…?")_

Morgan winks at Alex and Mary and says, "I just need a phone number."

* * *

**A few minutes later, on the Nevada side of Hoover Dam**

The gates have just been opened for the day—and a few early-bird tourists are already strolling down from the parking garage to the glassed-in visitors center, and on from there to the roadway that runs along the top of the dam. The morning sun has yet to penetrate this far into the canyon, but the air is already warming very nicely.

As they make their way out to the dam, a few of the visitors stop to admire a pair of immense bronze winged statues on black granite pedestals, set dramatically in front of a high wall of red rock at the western portal to the dam itself. One of the tourists stoops to read the 1930s-era commemorative inscriptions on the pedestals, out loud to his companions. Then, without any warning, there is a low whooshing rumble beneath their feet, and the statues begin to vibrate.

Startled, the tourists fall back from the statues. But just as abruptly as they started, the rumble and shaking cease.

"_Earthkvake?"_ asks one in a thick accent.

"No, I don't think so," replies another. "I'm from California and that didn't really feel like a quake to me."

"Sorta sounded loike a big loo flushing," says a third tourist.

Their attention is drawn back to the statues when they hear a pounding noise coming from somewhere in back, followed by a metallic _creeeeeaaaaak_!—and then the tourists are even more amazed when…

_(Music: "Heroic Theme [from Chuck]," by Tim Jones)_

…a tall young man, dressed in normal business attire—but sopping wet from head to toe—pops up behind one of the pedestals. He immediately squats down with one arm extended to help a young woman emerge right behind him: a beautiful blonde in a print blouse and skirt, just as drenched as he is. They turn to each other, embrace, and kiss enthusiastically. Then the man takes the lady's hand and leads her out from behind the statues. And only then do they realize that they have an audience.

"Morning!" Chuck cries out, with a friendly wave. "Don't mind us—just went for a lil' swim in good ol' Lake Mead!"

"It's most refreshing," Sarah adds.

At first the tourists are too astonished to react—then, somebody notices how tightly Sarah's wet clothes are clinging to her, and all the cameras and phones come out.

But Chuck steps in front to shield his wife from the leering tourists, and the two of them hustle across the road toward the visitors center, laughing as Chuck's soaked sneakers squish and squeak on the concrete.

"Wow, that was _some_ ride—wasn't it, babe?" he asks her.

"Yeah…I suppose." Sarah looks with displeasure at her waterlogged clothing. "But if we were ever going to do something like _that_ again, I'd much rather it was in the shower."

They're about halfway to the visitors center entrance when sirens begin to wail all over the dam complex. Someone standing at the wall at the crest of the dam is yelling and pointing downward toward the river, and all of the other tourists in the area are running toward him, to find out what's happening. In the confusion, Chuck and Sarah slip into the visitors center, looking for refuge.

The scene inside the building is similar: everyone there is pressed against the tinted observation windows and making loud and nervous comments about something happening down below. Chuck and Sarah weave their way in far enough to see what it is: an enormous cascade of water bursting out of an opening in the canyon wall, just barely downstream of the dam and the powerhouse.

Chuck leans toward Sarah's ear and whispers, _"Guess all that water had to go somewhere."_

"_We need to get away from here now,"_ she replies in his ear.

Chuck takes his iPhone out of his pocket and grimaces. _"Totally soaked—useless. Morgan can't find us. Gotta figure out another way back to town."_

"_And here's more trouble,"_ Sarah murmurs, nodding over her shoulder. Three Bureau of Reclamation police officers have just come into the visitors center and are eyeing the agitated crowd of tourists nervously. Chuck and Sarah duck lower to conceal themselves.

"_They're bound to wonder why we're so wet," _whispers Chuck.

"_Yeah. Umm, unless…?"_ Sarah gestures upward with her eyes, to a fire sprinkler head in the ceiling about six feet above their heads. Chuck smiles and nods in assent. They scan their surroundings looking for a suitable weapon, until Sarah spots a ball-point pen sticking partway out of the back pants pocket of a pudgy middle-aged man, just within reach.

She takes a step forward—as if trying to push her way closer to the window—then pretends to stumble, and throws an arm around the back of the man with the pen to steady herself. He twists toward her in surprise and finds himself staring down the front of Sarah's wet blouse, as her hand swoops down behind him and seizes the pen.

"Ohhh—pardon _me_ sir," Sarah coos, palming her prize as a big-haired woman on the other side of her mark makes a nasty face and jerks him away.

"_Nice,"_ Chuck whispers.

Sarah smiles appreciatively and asks him, _"Care to tango?"_

Chuck grins. He waits for a little space to open in the milling crowd, then slips his right arm around Sarah's waist and starts to bend her backward as if they're doing the tango—but just far enough for her to get a clear shot at the sprinkler head. Sarah lets the ball-point pen fly, and it breaks the tiny glass trigger in the center of the sprinkler as Chuck swings his wife upright again. It all happens so fast that nobody around them realizes what they've done—until a generous spray of cold water pours down on all of the tourists in the vicinity.

As people scream and laugh and jump away from the sprinkler, Sarah has the presence of mind to pick up the pen and hand it back to its now thoroughly confused owner.

But then—someone shrieks, "Oh my _God!_ The Hoover Dam is _leaking all over!"_

"Oops," Sarah says. "Didn't expect _that_ reaction."

Then she and Chuck are dragged along as the moistened mob pushes for the exit doors—which are fortunately wide enough to let everyone through without anyone getting trampled. The Reclamation police officers, yelling at the tourists to calm down and slow down, are helplessly swept to either side.

Outside, the sirens are still wailing. As the crowd from the visitors center flees up the hill toward the parking garage and bus stop, other police officers are methodically evacuating the remaining tourists from the top of the dam. Sarah and Chuck reach the bus stop, and jog along a line of idling motor coaches until they find one labeled FREE CASINO SHUTTLE TO VEGAS STRIP and board it.

The bus is almost empty, and the Bartowskis take a pair of seats at the back. Then Chuck notices that Sarah, drenched to the bone and all out of adrenaline, is shivering. He returns to the front of the bus to ask the driver for a blanket. No such luck—but then he spies a discarded newspaper on one of the empty seats.

"Old trick from backyard camping with Morgan," he tells Sarah while blanketing her in newspaper from the knees up. "Sorry that it's not very stylish."

"Mmmm, works for me," she drowsily replies.

Then Chuck sits back down and holds his wife close to him, with both arms around her to keep the newspaper in place. Sarah sighs comfortably and rests her head on his chest. By the time the bus has filled with noisy hyped-up tourists and departed for Las Vegas, the two of them are sound asleep.

* * *

**Ninety minutes later, in the La Plata Linda Hotel**

In the private glass elevator, approaching the fifty-ninth floor, Sarah turns to Chuck and wrinkles her nose.

"Both of us smell like the river. I think we'll have to burn these clothes."

"I agree," says Chuck. "It's lucky that we have a plentiful supply of bathrobes to wear."

"Race you to the shower," Sarah replies, giving him a peck on the cheek.

But when the elevator doors open, they see that the door to the honeymoon suite is wide open, propped by a laundry cart. The concierge is standing in the hallway right in front, and very apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Mister and Mizz Carmichael. Housekeeping came a little bit early this morning. But I think they're almost done in there."

"We'll encourage them to be quick about it," says Sarah, taking Chuck's arm as they step around the laundry cart and into their suite.

Two young women in immaculate white uniforms are making the bed, but instead of focusing on that task, they peer suspiciously at Sarah and Chuck as they walk by.

"_They're doing a terrible job,"_ Sarah whispers. _"Just look at those corners!"_

"_And the TV's on,"_ Chuck adds. _"Something's not right."_ Sarah's hand tightens on his arm as they move cautiously into the kitchen.

Another white-garbed housekeeper is sitting at the counter with her back turned to them, holding a coffee mug, and intently watching the frenzied local news coverage of the UNEXPLAINED ACCIDENTAL RELEASE AT HOOVER DAM on a widescreen TV high on the kitchen wall.

Sarah and Chuck freeze in their tracks at the same instant—when they both notice that the woman is raven-haired and has her right arm in a sling.

"Hello again…_Juanita,"_ Chuck says emphatically. "How's the wing doing?"

"We'd have thought you'd be busy with a mop and bucket somewhere other than here right about now," suggests Sarah.

Saldana laughs and shakes her head, then turns to face them. "Funny, Sarah! But the facility is undamaged. Our barriers did the job they were designed to do."

"Then I guess we can all feel relieved that our hard work wasn't for naught," Chuck says dryly.

"Why are you here, Juanita?" asks Sarah. "Surely not for another fight."

"That would be foolhardy," Saldana replies, looking dolefully at her wounded arm. "No—I have come for two reasons. One is to return the tools you left behind." She points with one foot toward the two C. I. briefcases, set on the floor beneath the kitchen counter.

"Thoughtful of you," mutters Chuck.

"And—Sarah," continues Saldana, "your pistol is inside one of these cases as well. Unloaded, of course. However, there _are_ two fully-loaded tranq guns pointed at you right now, held by my two assistants—both sharpshooters. So I encourage you to stay still."

Chuck turns his head just enough to confirm that the bogus housekeepers have a bead on the two of them. Sarah glances down the length of the kitchen counter, stealthily measuring the distance to a utensil drawer she knows is full of knives.

Saldana reaches across the counter, a little clumsily with her uninjured left arm, for the remote. She points it at the widescreen TV and changes the channel.

"My other reason for being here is to offer you a final chance to save yourselves," she adds.

"_Save_ ourselves?" Chuck asks. "What do you mean by that?"

Saldana tilts her head at the television screen. "Watch and you will see."

The TV is now showing a video recording of the winged statues next to Hoover Dam, taken by a camera somewhere above them—possibly from the roof of the visitors center. A rolling timestamp at the bottom of the video indicates that it was made a little more than two hours earlier.

While everyone else's attention is momentarily drawn to the screen, Sarah takes one small step closer to the utensil drawer.

Now the video shows the early-morning tourists standing around the statues, before staggering back in surprise as the ground shakes. Behind the statues—out of sight of the tourists but clearly visible to the camera—a rusty manhole cover flips up, a soaking-wet Chuck emerges, and he helps a similarly saturated Sarah climb out.

Though on edge and still unsure of Saldana's intent, Chuck and Sarah can't help but smile as they watch themselves kissing in celebration of their narrow escape from the flooded air shaft. At the moment when they have emerged from behind the statues and are about to run away from the gawking tourists toward the visitors center, Saldana pauses the video.

"Off the record," she says, "I sincerely apologize for your near-drowning. We had no idea that particular old Fulcrum defense system still remained. Though—of course—you never would have been in any danger at all, if only you had chosen t—"

"The _point,_ Juanita?" Sarah snaps at her.

"My goodness—how testy!" Saldana chuckles. "But understandable, given your travails over the last couple of hours. So I will spell it out. What_ I_ see in this video are two domestic terrorists—once two of the CIA's best agents but now gone rogue—making their getaway after planting the explosive charges that triggered the underground flood."

"Say _what?"_ asks Chuck incredulously. "Who's _muy loco_ now?"

Ignoring him, Saldana continues, "And…only an uncharacteristic miscalculation on their part—or perhaps mere dumb luck—saved the hydroelectric power plant, and perhaps the dam itself, from far worse damage." She folds her arms and breaks into her signature smug grin.

"I'm sure you realize how ridiculous all of this sounds," Sarah says dismissively, as she takes another barely noticeable step toward the utensil drawer.

"Ridiculous to you, _sí._ But what matters is whether the _FBI_ thinks it is ridiculous." Saldana turns off the TV. "And…call me _loca_ if you choose—but I am confident that they will soon find plenty of evidence in support of that scenario."

"Unless…we cooperate with you and Fleming?" Sarah wearily asks.

"_¡Exacto!_ You catch on quickly for a Harvard woman," Saldana replies, winking at Chuck—who can only glower at her in angry frustration.

Suddenly—a loud clatter and thud, as the laundry cart comes rolling and bumping from the entranceway into the middle of the honeymoon suite, and the front door slams shut. Without thinking, Saldana's two lady sharpshooters turn toward the ruckus—giving an opening for Chuck to flash, and Sarah to dive for the utensil drawer.

Then Mary runs in, right behind the advancing laundry cart, with her tranq pistol in one hand and the revolver captured from the bogus policeman in the other. She slides underneath the line of fire of the sharpshooters and somersaults into the kitchen, coming up in a squatting position and tossing the tranq pistol to Chuck.

Just that quickly, the two CIA sharpshooters find themselves targeted by Mary with the revolver, Chuck with the tranq pistol, and Sarah with a knife in each hand!

"_Drop your weapons!"_ Chuck barks at the two agents. _"Now!"_ Thoroughly abashed, they place their tranq pistols on the floor and kick them over toward Mary.

Chuck exhales deeply and turns toward Saldana, expecting her to look downcast and beaten. Instead, she has her iPhone in hand and is grinning as assuredly as ever.

"I was mistaken to think we might all depart here peacefully," she says. "No matter. I have learned that in dealing with you, I need a few extra cards in the deck. My tactical team has been in the air close by all this time. I just called them in—they will be on the roof immediately above us in two minutes or less."

Sarah looks urgently at Chuck—asking with her eyes: _Do we fight? or run?_ But before he can decide what to do—

_Bang!_ The front door to the suite flies open once again.

"Perhaps even sooner," Saldana adds—but she looks confused.

"_Nobody shoot us, please! We're unarmed! We're coming in!"_

Saldana silently mouths _¿Qué?—_while Sarah rolls her eyes and Chuck slaps his palm to his forehead.

"It's clear…Morgan!" he shouts in the direction of the entranceway—then adds, under his voice, "For the moment anyway."

"I _did_ it, buddy!" Morgan is yelling, as he bounds into the kitchen breathing hard and waving a white handkerchief. "I did it—I made the call—he's here with me right _now!"_

Enter Alex, with a no-nonsense expression reminiscent of her father, and another tranq pistol. Right behind her follows a distinguished-looking, sun-bronzed man in his late forties or early fifties, with precisely trimmed dark-brown hair, mustache, and goatee; in a sharp royal-blue suit and red tie with Marine Corps logos. He goes straight over to Chuck, who breaks out in a thousand-watt grin as they shake hands.

"Splendid to see you again, Mr. and Ms. Carmichael," says the man, nodding respectfully to Sarah across the kitchen. Then he turns to Saldana and hands her a business card.

"Special Agent Saldana, I presume. My name is Julio Johnson—I'm an attorney."

Saldana's eyes go as wide as the Deep Skillet tunnels as she reads the card:

ALIAS SMITH, JONES, & JOHNSON, PARTNERS, LLC

_Prudent Legal Representation For The Clandestine Community_

"My firm represents Carmichael Industries," Johnson continues. "I was summoned by Mr. Grimes because there seems to be a problem with closing out the cyber-incident response project you contracted."

"Damn _right_ there's a problem," says Chuck, stabbing an accusing finger at Saldana. "We did the job—fully to specs—but now, the CIA wants to detain us because of what we know."

"Hmm…that's irregular to say the least," Johnson muses, as he pulls an iPad out from beneath his jacket and opens the case files for a quick inspection.

Meanwhile, Sarah—still holding the knives—sidles over to Chuck.

"_I remember this guy!"_ she whispers excitedly in his ear. _"I drew up the retainer agreement!"_

"_Yeah—and right now I'm really really glad you did, baby."_

Johnson looks up from the iPad and tells Saldana, "There is nothing included by either party to this agreement that would allow the CIA to detain our clients—even temporarily."

"Then I…am changing the terms of the agreement," Saldana huffs.

Johnson shakes his head. "You can't do that, madam."

Saldana laughs at him and gestures toward the door. "I and my tactical team can, and will."

"Aren't they a little overdue at this point?" Sarah asks.

The attorney calmly puts his iPad down on the kitchen counter and takes an iPhone out of his jacket pocket.

"Suit yourself, Agent Saldana. I will not waste time arguing with you. My clients are quite clearly exhausted and uncomfortable and no doubt feeling somewhat harassed by your threats. A quick call to General Beckman should settle this right away." He thumbs the keypad once and brings the phone up to his ear.

"You have her on _speed dial?"_ asks Chuck with awe.

"_Wait!"_ cries Saldana, leaping up at Johnson and tugging on his arm in a pathetic attempt to get the phone away from him. "That will not be necessary! Let's talk!"

Johnson nods, cancels the call, and points toward Chuck and Sarah. "Talk to my clients."

"_Sí, sí_…all right then, what is it you want?" Saldana grumbles through clenched teeth.

"Simple enough," Chuck answers. He starts counting off on his fingers: "No tac team. No detention. No FBI. No further contact with or harassment of my employees or our family. And remit the balance of our payment promptly upon receipt of the invoice."

Johnson waves his iPhone, putting a silent exclamation point on Chuck's demands.

"Understood," says Saldana meekly. "And I will personally make sure of it."

"Settled," Sarah adds. "Then I'll see you and your two associates out to the elevator, Juanita dear. Meaning _now."_

Chuck shakes Johnson's hand once more. "Couldn't have timed it better, sir. Thanks for getting out here so fast…from L.A., was it?"

"Correct," the attorney replies with a friendly smile. "And no problem. It's all billable hours."

Out in the foyer, when the doors to the elevator open, Sarah is surprised to find that it already carries a passenger coming down from the roof: Steve Rosen, the head of casino security.

"Well, good morning, Mr. Rosen," Sarah calls out cheerfully. "What brings you up this way so early?"

"Morning, Ms. Carmichael. You'd think I'd have seen everything that could possibly happen on this property after nine years—but _noooo!_ Would you believe somebody just tried to land an _entire black ops team_ on the roof?"

"My goodness!" Sarah exclaims, subtly nudging Saldana with her elbow. "That's just _crazy!"_

"Isn't it now," Rosen agrees, winking at Sarah. "But nobody lands on _my_ roof without filing a flight plan—_nobody!"_ He pats the front of his jacket, and something slender and metallic underneath makes a solid clinking sound. Then he steps to the side to let Saldana—grim-faced and muttering unintelligibly—get into the elevator with her two sharpshooters. Rosen scrutinizes the three of them with obvious disapproval.

"You don't look like regular housekeeping staff," he says.

"We quit," Saldana retorts.

Just before the doors close, Rosen leans out and asks Sarah, "You and your husband are still on for lunch today, I hope? Really would like to talk some business with you."

Sarah gives him a thumbs-up sign, then whirls around and flies back into the honeymoon suite—and into the open arms of Chuck, who is waiting for her just inside the door. Alex discreetly shoos the rest of Team Carmichael and attorney Johnson toward the kitchen, to hunt up some champagne. On the way there, Morgan pulls Johnson aside and asks him, "By the way—can you do something about a parking ticket?"

After a reasonable interval of wildly passionate kissing, Chuck lifts his head back just enough to look deep into Sarah's gleaming eyes, and says—

"You know, babe—I always thought it was mostly hype—but maybe it's true after all, about what happens in Vegas…."


	10. Epilogue

**CHUCK VERSUS WHAT HAPPENS IN VEGAS**

A post-Season 5 story and imagined Season 6 opener.

_What happened in Vegas?_ Chuck and Sarah rebooted their love story the same way it started: by sharing adventures and facing danger together. They thwarted new adversaries with a little help from their faithful family and friends. Sarah found some of her memories and Chuck found a whole new use for the Intersect. Carmichael Industries got back in business by fixing something nobody else could. All that, and even a little sexy time for our favorite power couple in Sin City! …_What's next? _

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Chuck._ And though it's been fun to write an imaginary Season 6 opener, I would have preferred to watch a real one instead.

* * *

**EPILOGUE **

**Sixth day, evening, in Deep Skillet**

Professor Fleming wheels himself into a secret laboratory that's been profoundly changed in just a few hours. Deep Skillet is abuzz with productivity: an analyst working at every terminal and a corps of technicians circulating and fine-tuning the computer systems. The overhead screens variously flash detailed live maps of trouble spots around the globe, high-resolution satellite imagery, and classified video logs of CIA drone attacks and on-the-ground paramilitary missions. In the midst of it all, moving from station to station, iPad under her good arm, looking proud and stressed at the same time, is Special Agent Juanita Saldana.

Saldana catches sight of Fleming, and her face falls. She meekly nods toward her private office and he follows her there. Once inside, she closes the door, pulls her desk chair out, and sits down backwards, leaning forward on the back of her chair, steeling herself for a tongue-lashing from her mentor.

But Fleming gives her a gentle smile instead. "I hear the Agency is giving you an official commendation, my dear," he begins. _"¡Felicidades!"_

"_Gracias,"_ Saldana replies. "My superiors at Langley were pleased to finally have this facility on line."

"Yes, and I know some thought your use of Carmichael Industries was chancy—but you proved them all wrong. Only you and I need concern ourselves with the rest of the story."

Saldana looks down at the floor. "Professor, I—

"Hush." Fleming pats her on the knee. "Juanita, you are one of the two best students I have ever taught at Stanford. But clearly you are much more adept at handling high-tech weaponry than high-value human assets. No matter. This is a setback, but our benefactors are very patient people."

"How should we proceed?" she asks him.

"Wait and watch—watch closely," replies Fleming. "I think Chuck will try to outflank us by reconfiguring the Intersect software as open-source, then disseminating it as widely as possible through the hacker community. He would see that as the most noble course of action."

"But what about the wetware? None of that would work unless the uploads could be rendered safe enough for anyone to—_ah!"_ Saldana snaps her fingers. "His _sister!"_

"My thought as well. With her collaboration and with enough resources, his little firm just might pull it off. So I think we should give him some rope—and if he shows any signs of imminent success, then we reel him right back in."

"Having already done half of _our_ work for us!"

"Precisely. The first thing you must do is pay your bill."

"Already taken care of," Saldana says, affectionately patting her iPad.

"Then I will be on my way, as I have a flight back to San José in two hours. Keep a good watch on them, Juanita. And do be careful," he adds, pointing to her injured right arm. Then Fleming takes Saldana's left hand, kisses it gallantly, and departs.

"Most assuredly I will," she answers—after Fleming has left. She opens a new window on her iPad: a high-resolution live satellite image of metropolitan Las Vegas. Out in the far northwest suburbs on the edge of the desert, at the location of a popular family restaurant on the corner of two back streets, a single green dot—labeled BARTOWSKI, C—is blinking brightly.

* * *

**Over the course of a fine evening in that very same friendly family restaurant in northwest Vegas…**

_(Music: "Together Forever in Love," by Go Sailor)_

Sarah, Ellie, and Mary sit at one end of a long table laden with hors d'oeuvre trays, bowls of chips and dip, and platters of fist-sized barbecued chicken wings. Sarah is gently bouncing her little brunette niece Clara Woodcomb on her knee, while Clara fiddles happily with a pair of pink fuzzy dice, and all three ladies laugh heartily at her antics.

Courtesy of Carmichael Industries, they're in a private room at the back of the restaurant, away from the noisy crowd of regular customers out front.

"How long are you staying?" Ellie asks Sarah.

"Two or three more days I think," Sarah replies. "We're going to—_oopsie!"_ Clara has just dropped her fuzzy dice on the floor. Ellie bends down to retrieve them, and meticulously wipes them down with a napkin before presenting them back to her excited little daughter.

"Anyway," continues Sarah, as she tickles Clara with her pinky finger, "Chuck and I already have another project lined up—with the casino—and this'll give us a chance to enjoy the rest of this honeymoon with way fewer interruptions."

"That sounds _wonderful,"_ Ellie says, enviously. "And so much better than the seventeen-hundred-mile drive _we_ have waiting for us starting tomorrow! But at least that storm in Utah moved on while we were here."

"It was lucky for us that you came," says Sarah quietly. "We owe you both plenty."

"_Feh!"_ Mary exclaims, waving her hand. "We're all family and this is what we do."

"I'll try not to forget that," Sarah remarks—and they all start laughing again.

* * *

In an adjacent quiet hallway leading to the restrooms, Chuck stands with his face toward the wall, staring blankly at a faded National Finals Rodeo poster, and looking just a bit sheepish as his brother-in-law Devon Woodcomb pulls his shirt collar away from his neck and peers down his back.

"Hmm, yes—I see the welt," Devon says in his deep serious-doctor voice. "Is it bothering you?"

"Not so much any more," Chuck replies. "But it doesn't seem to want to go away."

"Looks to me like an allergic reaction," Devon adds, and puts Chuck's shirt back in place. "Like what you might sometimes get from a tetanus shot or a flu shot."

"Or…perhaps a _tranq needle?"_

"I'm not so familiar with the long-term effects of those—but maybe. Maybe. If it's not itching any more, that's probably a good sign. If it's still there when you get back to Echo Park, you should go see a dermatologist. I'll text you the name of a good one."

"Sounds like a plan," Chuck avers, patting Devon on the back. "And thanks. Hey—buy you another beer?" He points to the lively bar in the front of the place, where Alex and Morgan have just gone to get their own drinks refilled.

"You bet! Sounds awesome, bro!"

* * *

A little later, Chuck goes over to join the three Bartowski ladies. Clara is sitting on Mary's lap now, but all three women are fussing equally over her.

"They'll be bringing out dinner in a moment," he tells them. "Just so you know."

"About time," says Sarah eagerly. "I'm _starving!"_

Chuck, standing directly behind his seated wife, puts his hands on her shoulders and gently massages them. Sarah smiles and brings her right hand up to squeeze his left, while cocking her head to look up at him. They gaze at each other for a moment—and then Chuck abruptly recalls that he's there on a mission.

He reaches into his pocket, takes out the Key—again sealed tightly in a plastic sleeve—and carefully places it in Ellie's hand.

"Here you go," he tells her. "It got a little damp, but it's as good as new. As soon as I get back home, I'll make you a half-dozen more just like it."

"And Saldana believes this was destroyed?" asks Ellie.

"Can't ever be totally sure with her, but we think so," Sarah replies.

"Did you ever contact General Beckman?"

"They can't," interjects Mary. "That attorney was just bluffing Saldana. If Beckman were to find out about Chuck—_officially,_ that is—she'd be compelled to have the Intersect removed from him. Whether she really wanted to or not."

"So it's stalemate with Team Fleming," Chuck says. "And an arms race of sorts. That's why it's so important, Sis, that we get to work on this right away."

Ellie studies the Key in her hand and sighs heavily.

"I…um, needed to talk with you about that, Chuck. Research like this takes money. _Serious_ money. And I don't see any way I could write a grant proposal for this kind of work—at least not without bringing the CIA and NSA right down on us."

At that, Sarah perks up and pats her husband's hand, still resting on her shoulder.

"Chuck and I have already got that figured out," she says excitedly. _"Carmichael Industries_ is going to fund your research, Ellie. Half the profits from every job of ours here on out will go to you."

"Starting with a big chunk of the handsome sum Special Agent Saldana transferred to us this very afternoon!" Chuck adds—as Ellie's mouth opens in surprise and tears appear in the corners of her eyes.

"_Hey you guys!"_ Morgan interrupts from across the room. "Let's eat!"

* * *

Some time well after dinner ends, as most of the family lingers around the table sharing favorite old stories and bellowing in laughter, Chuck and Sarah borrow Clara from her mom and dad and bring her over to the quiet side of the room.

_(Music: "A Question and an Answer," by Tim Jones)_

Clara, still wide awake, sits in Chuck's lap and giggles delightedly at her uncle as he plays peek-a-boo with her. Sarah has her arm around him, and alternates between watching Clara and planting little kisses on Chuck's face.

"I think," Sarah says, softly, after a while, "the way you're so at ease with her, the way that it's making _me_ feel right now—you and I must have already been talking about having a baby of our own…about starting a family. Am I right?" She nuzzles his neck.

"Funny you should ask," replies Chuck. "You just reminded me that I found something in my briefcase this afternoon I wanted to show you. Here—take the package for a moment."

Chuck gingerly passes Clara to Sarah, who cradles her in both arms as her husband removes a tightly folded piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it in front of Sarah as she looks on with avid curiosity. It's a simple sketch, hand-drawn on top of an illustration torn out of a magazine—a _Japanese_ magazine, from the looks of the printed characters at the bottom of the page….

"Remember _this?"_ Chuck asks Sarah as he holds it out for her to see.

_(Closing credits and Chuck titles theme, by Tim Jones)_

* * *

**This imaginary Season 6 of "Chuck" continues with the next episode: _"Chuck Versus the C G I"_— also posted on _FanFiction!_  
**

**Author's final words:**

_I had tremendous fun writing this imaginary episode—and the writing helped me deal with the end of the series and the passage of these wonderful characters into the realm of our imaginations. But the best and most effective motivation for me to keep going on this was the encouragement I got from the reviews posted by readers after each update! So THANK YOU 2old2write, atcDave, atx77, coreymon77, Guest, KryptonitePoison, phnxgrl, Reyes9; and also add291, Aiden, AwesomeChuck, etcmmcpo, Hotski, JaCo, jaytoyz, Milli, resaw, Spaceman, Sudden Radiance, TioPaco, UKChuckster, uplink2, and wassupchuck. You rock, all of you! I also appreciate each of the Follows and Favs this story accrued—THANKS to all you folks too!_


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